


Potential Limitations

by saxyad18



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Gifteds, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Nudity, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, breakdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxyad18/pseuds/saxyad18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working undercover at Hydra affected Simmons far more than anyone realized. When the truth is revealed, will she succumb to the devastating consequences of the experience or rise anew in the aftermath? Genius, after all, is often a precursor to madness, and the only thing she now knows about herself with absolutely certainty is that her mind is a terrifying place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is mostly canon compliant through episode 10 of season 2, especially in terms of the FitzSimmons rift. After that point, it diverges rather considerably from the current story line in the show. I always thought it was a little strange that Simmons's undercover work at Hydra and the consequences of that work for her didn't have more development in the show. Something about that plot line feels unfinished to me, so this is my idea of what might have happened. 
> 
> I am going to extend Simmons as a character in a way that I think could be possible but certainly isn't part of the show. You'll just have to trust me on that front. She won't be markedly OCC--just a little more developed in certain aspects. Eventually, we'll get a little romance (clearly I ship FitzSimmons and we need some serious reconciliation on that front), but it will be far later in the story. 
> 
> This first chapter is just the prologue. The other chapters will be quite a bit longer. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

What she is about to do is exceedingly dangerous. She knows that, but it’s the only option she has. She’s walking a fine line between self-preservation and annihilation. One wrong move, one foolish decision and she’ll fall into the chasm. She can already feel herself teetering toward it. The temptation is nearly irresistible.

It would worry them, she thinks, that she isn’t more concerned about her immediate survival. What they wouldn’t grasp is that it is nearly guaranteed at this point. She’ll survive; he admires her abilities too much to end her life no matter the outcome of today. She just isn’t sure which parts of her will be whole in the end, and that is what she fears most and what they should fear too.

They’ve always seen her as relatively harmless, and she can be if she wants, but what they’ve chosen to ignore is that she can just as easily become monstrous. Genius is often a precursor to madness after all.

As she settles her mind firmly on the task at hand, she lets those worries drift away. She can’t afford to care about them now. Whatever principles she might otherwise follow don’t apply here. It’s so much easier to let herself go than ever before. The freedom of thought and action she has now are heady, and it takes her a moment to remember why she doesn’t allow herself this level of autonomy all the time.

One glance in the mirror gives her the reminder she needs. As she stares at a face that is more foreign than familiar, her eyes narrowed and teeth bared in a feral sneer, she remembers the most important certainty of her life: her mind is a terrifying place. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little teaser to pique your interest. I'll post the next chapter soon.


	2. Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught unaware, the team finds themselves strung up in an abandoned warehouse. Before long, some of the consequences of Simmons's undercover work at Hydra become apparent, and they are left with more questions than answers.

* * *

May wakes first and she realizes they’ve been captured within seconds of regaining consciousness. She tries not to draw attention to herself as she takes stock of the situation. She’s bound to a wall with her arms above her head in what appears to be an empty warehouse. Unfortunately, she can only see about twenty feet into the room; the remaining space is shrouded in shadows.

She twists her wrists carefully, attempting to ascertain the make and material of her restraints. They are unlike anything she’s encountered before. She can feel the faintest hint of vibrations. Her best guess is that the cuffs rely on some kind of electromagnetic technology. No amount of brute force is going to free her from this type of bond.

Using her peripheral vision, she notices Bobbi and Mack starting to come to on either side of her. She can just see Coulson’s lolling head around Bobbi’s body, and she hopes that the rest of the team is beyond him. She doesn’t want to chance moving to see. Luckily, she doesn’t have to; within a few more minutes, the rest of the team wakes.

Hunter is the first to speak: “Where the bloody hell are we?” One minute they had been extracting an 084, and now he’s strung up like a piñata.

Bobbi sighs both in relief and exasperation when she hears his voice. She’s glad to know he’s alive, but any hope they might have had of communicating without alerting whoever has captured them is now gone.

“Well, there goes our element of surprise,” grouses Coulson, who clearly shares Bobbi’s annoyance with Hunter. “Everyone alright?”

A chorus of ‘yes’, ‘yeah’ and ‘fine, sir’ sounds, but one voice is noticeably absent.

“Where’s Simmons?” Skye slurs. She feels like her brain has turned to molasses. Everything seems slow and foggy, like she can’t quite connect with her body. Even if her powers could get them out of the restraints, she’s too nervous to try. She has barely learned to control what she can do in a contained environment. She has no idea what might happen if she tries when stressed and more than likely drugged.

The cacophony of whispers that ensues as the team tries to make sense of what happened and to see if Simmons is in the vicinity ceases immediately as the sound of footsteps begins to fill the room. Before long, a familiar figure stands before them flanked by guards.

“Hydra,” May states flatly, as if the word itself is a curse. She counts at least ten heavily armed operatives in addition to the man she would love nothing more than to strangle.

* * *

Sunil Bakshi, who has always had a flare for the dramatic, relishes the theatrical nature of his entrance. After all, what better way to announce himself than to embody the phrase that marked the beginning of the end for SHIELD? Out of the shadows and into the light indeed.

Coulson had dealt a considerable blow to Hydra by tricking the leaders into betraying each other, but the organization had not existed for decades without reason and Bakshi was nothing if not resourceful. Escaping the pitiful excuse of a prison Talbot had thrown him in was child’s play. SHIELD’s biggest mistake had been turning him over to the U.S. Government. Hydra had allies everywhere.

“Well, well, Agent Coulson. This is quite a predicament you’ve found yourself in. Whatever shall you do now?” he taunts.

“What have you done with Agent Simmons?” Coulson seethes at the man. Of all his agents, Simmons is the least capable of defending herself in a situation such as this. Even Fitz has proven himself handy with firearms when necessary, which isn’t all that surprising considering he had designed most of them.

“All will be revealed at the proper moment, I assure you. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to how you arrived here?”

“I don’t give a damn what you did to get us here. I want to know where my agent is, Bakshi.” Coulson repeats. He’ll worry about how to get out of this mess once he knows what Bakshi has done with Agent Simmons. With her cover blown, there is no telling what despicable treatment she is enduring at the hands of the Hydra operatives.

“I can see that we just aren’t going to get anywhere like this. I had hoped to save the surprise a little longer. Ah well, there is nothing to be done about it, I suppose. Dr. Simmons? Won’t you join us, dear?” Bakshi calls to a darkened corner of the warehouse.

At first the team can see nothing. They only hear the steady click of heels along the cement floor. Then, a figure begins to emerge, but none of them can believe what they see.

* * *

The black cat suit clings to her curves like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Ending just shy of her knees, the heeled boots add several inches to her height, making her form nearly unrecognizable. It’s a far cry from the frilly floral blouse, black trousers, and sensible flats she was wearing when they last saw her. Her hair hangs pin straight partially obscuring one of her eyes, which are highlighted with heavy makeup that makes her blood red lips stand out even more against her pale skin.

As she struts toward them, hips swaying, she straightens the belts and holsters littered about her form. They count at least three handguns, and they wonder about what they can’t see tucked away in the pouches.

When she halts a few feet from Bakshi, one hip cocked and arms crossed, many of them have a fleeting thought that Simmons now looks like an even more terrifying version of the Black Widow. Her usually lively hazel eyes are flat and devoid of any kind of recognition of them. Her ruby lips, which are nearly always quirked into at least a half smile, are bowed into a slight frown. Whoever this is clearly looks like Simmons, but she appears so different from what they know that they can’t really believe it’s her.

“You rang?” Simmons’s distinctive accent carries across the empty room, echoing and distorting into a terrifyingly chilling sound. Even her voice sounds lifeless, but there is no mistaking it. If the well-armed femme fatale standing before them is Simmons, that truth leaves them with even more questions than answers.

May and Coulson immediately wonder if the woman is a Hydra agent using a photostatic veil to masquerade as Simmons in the same way that Agent 33 had impersonated May and Bakshi had impersonated Talbot. Still, there are little tells, from the way she crosses her arms to the angle of her cocked hip that make them entertain the notion that she is really Simmons. Accents and physical appearances are easy enough to duplicate. Body language is much harder.

“Ah, Dr. Simmons, so nice to see you looking like yourself again,” Bakshi croons as he steps just behind her.

“Simmons?” Fitz calls out weakly, his voice full of incredulity.

“I can see what you’re all thinking. Did dear, sweet, innocent Jemma fool us all this time? Has she really been Hydra all along?” Bakshi taunts. “As much as I would love to tell you that she’s never been on your side, the fact is that she was until you threw her to the wolves.”

“You thought yourselves so clever, sending her to us with that pathetic excuse of being loyal to science above all else, hoping that we would value her mind enough not to question her too much. Well, you were right about one thing: we did value her mind, enough to make sure that we would never lose it even when her charade inevitably fell apart.”

“For all her touted brilliance, it took far less time than expected for her to respond to our treatment. After a few sessions, she was almost eager to relinquish her control and comply. Then, it was only a matter of filling the appalling gaps you left in her training. I’m surprised you never took advantage of her latent skills and hidden talents.”

As he purrs the last line, Bakshi wraps his arms around Simmons’s waist, one hand reaching up to fondle her breast while the other travels down to snake between her thighs, cupping her possessively.

Fitz feels the blood drain from his face. He almost retches when the woman’s lips twitch into a brief smirk, as if she’s enjoying being manhandled. If this is Simmons, he’s sick at the thought of what Bakshi and Hydra have done to her.

“I only needed a few minutes after your capture to remind her of her training and purpose. She’s really quite perfect, you see, and terrifyingly gifted. We’ve yet to find anything she can’t be trained to do. Her mind is so brilliant that she picks up even the most difficult techniques with ease.” He releases her only to run a hand over her hair as if stroking the fur of a pet, for that is how he sees her.

“Oh dear, I can see that you don’t believe me. Not that I am surprised. It’s clear that none of you ever recognized her true potential. Jemma dear, why don’t you give them a little demonstration?”

“Gladly,” she responds as she un-holsters the gun strapped to her right thigh. She considers each of them with cold, calculating eyes, the tension growing exponentially by the second.

* * *

Then, with one lightning-fast move, she swings the gun at May, aims, and shoots. The bullet wedges into the wall half a centimeter from May’s left ear. The only sign of shock May displays is the widening of her eyes. She’d tried to teach Simmons to shoot on several occasions, but the younger agent had never shown much interest or skill. Still, May knows that the placement of the bullet isn’t a mistake; it’s a warning. Staring into the eyes of the woman who looks like her teammate, May knows that this Simmons, whoever she is or whatever they’ve done to her, is more than capable of ending any of their lives.

Maintaining eye contact with May, Simmons reengages the safety and returns the gun to its holster.

“Isn’t she marvelous?” boasts Bakshi. “But that’s really just the tip of the iceberg. It’s what she can do with her bare hands and that delectable little body that is really worth seeing. Perhaps I’ll treat you to one more demonstration. Then, I’m afraid, we really must get on with things.”

“Agent Morse, perhaps you’d like to see her in action. You’re the reason she never finished her training after all. Release her,” he commands the nearest guard, who swiftly disengages Bobbi’s restraints and shoves her toward Simmons.

Never losing sight of her nearly unrecognizable teammate, Bobbi rubs her wrists and rotates her arms, trying to eliminate the deadened feeling from being tied up for who knows how long. She circles Simmons slowly, not at all sure what to expect. This is clearly not the Simmons who nearly got herself killed when they escaped the Hydra facility.

Simmons just stares her down, cataloging each movement and determining how to incapacitate the taller agent with the least effort possible. She cannot match Bobbi in strength, but she is at least her equal in flexibility and speed. And she has one thing that she knows Bobbi doesn’t: a complete understanding of every aspect of the human body and nervous system. Every weakness and flaw are hers to exploit. Bobbi may be a genius biologist, but she is no match for Simmons. Best of all, Simmons knows she won’t expect her to use that knowledge to her advantage.

At first, the two agents simply circle each other. “Jemma,” Bobbi calls lowly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Simmons’s lips twist into a cruel smile: “Don’t worry. You won’t,” she gibes before rushing her opponent. She shifts left at the last moment, forcing Bobbi to whirl around to keep her in her sights. As she turns, Simmons places a perfectly aimed kick to the back of Bobbi’s slightly bent left knee, forcing the agent to lose her balance and role to regain her position.

Bobbi is a little stunned to see how quickly Simmons can move. She’d never shown any particular agility before, but now she moves like a seasoned field agent. Taking Simmons down without hurting her seems like an impossible task. She eventually decides to try immobilizing her somehow, and pain is usually the quickest way. Dislocating Simmons’s shoulder should stun her enough that Bobbi can knock her out, and Simmons should make a full recovery with proper treatment and physiotherapy.

Bobbi feels honor bound to get Simmons out of this mess as quickly as possible. Clearly, she hadn’t been paying enough attention to Bakshi’s interest in the younger agent during their undercover work. She never imagined that Bakshi had used the Faustus method on the scientist, though clearly he had and it had worked. Even as she watches Simmons carefully, Bobbi tries to remember when Bakshi would have had time to employ his brainwashing techniques. She wishes now that she had been more suspicious of Simmons’s sudden promotion in the last few weeks of their op. Even as head of security, she hadn’t been able to monitor all of Simmons’s activities at Hydra Laboratories; she had other duties to perform to ensure her cover. Now she is beginning to understand how Simmons had spent that unaccounted for time.

Bobbi waits until Simmons lunges again to attempt to catch her arm, but the smaller agent neatly wriggles out of her grasp and catches her in a brief air choke. Simmons doesn’t have the height or power to sustain the hold for more than a few seconds, but it is enough to leave Bobbi a little disoriented.

Simmons takes advantage of her opponent’s momentary weakness to deal her final blow. With the precision of a surgeon, she strikes Bobbi’s occipital ridge at precisely the right angle and with just enough force to cause her to blackout. Simmons watches dispassionately as the women who once saved her life crumples to the ground like a puppet that has had it strings cut.

* * *

The other SHIELD agents are stunned. Simmons—sweet, rather clumsy, failed her field assessment spectacularly Simmons—had just taken out one of their best agents in less than a minute without breaking a sweat or suffering any injury.

“Well done, pet,” Bakshi praises before addressing the rest of the team. “You really should see what she can do with a blade, but I’m afraid we’re nearly out of time. Jemma, why don’t you go give your lover a memorable farewell? We have other, more pressing matters to see to, and I tire of this game.”

Side-stepping the prone form of Bobbi Morse, Simmons saunters over to where Fitz struggles at end of the line of Hydra’s prisoners. He isn’t sure why Bakshi thinks they are lovers. He and Simmons are still barely on speaking terms.

When she reaches Fitz, Simmons slides a thigh between his legs, pressing their hips together intimately as though they’ve occupied the position thousands of times. He hates himself for the jolt of arousal that surges through his body, especially as she starts to slowly roll her hips against his. The added height from her boots gives her enough leverage to grind into him with considerable force. Panicked, he searches wildly, hoping to see some glimmer of the woman he knew in her eyes, but he finds nothing.

At first, Simmons simply rests her forehead against his and leaves her palms on his chest as she rocks into him. Then, she catches his lips in a bruising kiss. It’s nothing like what he had once imagined for their first kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, rough and fiery with none of the affection or tenderness he’d hoped for. Curling one arm around his waist, she pulls him even closer, anchoring his head in place with her other hand. When her rocking hips tease him just to the point of imminent release, she finally relents. He’s left gasping for breath and feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen in his lungs and blood in his brain.

All he can do is stare at her and pant. She closes her eyes briefly and takes in a shuddering breath of her own. When she opens them again, he thinks he catches a glimpse of something, but it’s gone in an instant when Bakshi’s voice sounds.

“That’s enough, pet.”

“Goodbye, Fitz,” Simmons leans close to whisper, her lips ghosting over his as her hair shields them from any onlookers.

She releases him quickly and walks swiftly back to Bakshi. He pulls her against him greedily and nuzzles her hair for a moment. The gesture makes each of the SHIELD agents feel nauseated.

“You see? She’s really rather extraordinary. I’m quite eager to see just how far her talents will extend. With a brain like hers, the possibilities really are limitless I think. It’s too bad you won’t be around to see the results.”

“Jemma, darling,” he purrs in her ear, “Why don’t you put an end to our little game?”

“With pleasure,” she smirks, perverse amusement flashing in her eyes. As he turns from her and walks toward the room’s single exit, she grasps the pistols resting in the holsters at her waist and levels her gaze on the SHIELD agents chained to the wall.

Slowly, as if she wants to increase their feelings of dread and disbelief, she points her pistols at May and Mack. The sound of the safeties disengaging echoes off the barren walls.

“Night, night,” she singsongs in a childish voice before pulling the triggers.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I know you are probably wondering where on earth I am going with this, but you are just going to have to trust me on this one. Some of this will start to make sense in chapter three, and a lot of significant information is coming in chapter four, but even then we're only just getting started. 
> 
> Suffice it to say, I believe Simmons's mental abilities could be much greater even than what she has in the show. One of her greatest strengths is applying what she knows in novel ways, so I wanted to run with that here. I think given the right incentive Simmons could be molded into something rather terrifying. She has made amazing scientific breakthroughs on the show (sometimes with help and sometimes alone), so I thought it would be interesting to see what she could do if someone (Bakshi) gave her an "opportunity" to focus her attention on improving her combat skills. 
> 
> I got the idea for this fic partially from seeing Simmons's reaction to Reina in episode 2.11, which was quite interesting; Simmons had never showed much competence with weapons or a willingness to use them previously in the show (remember how poorly she handled shooting Sitwell), but she did so without hesitation and with remarkable accuracy in that episode. It seemed to me that some unknown training at Hydra might have been at least partially responsible for her sudden development in skills and the disparity in her overall character (in terms of attitude and openness) this season. 
> 
> As for the brainwashing, Simmons's comment to Bobbi in episode 2.5 about "probably be brainwashed, happy to comply to who knows what" struck me as a little odd and kind of rushed. It just seemed a strange thing for her to say in that moment, and we all know Simmons has a tendency to be a very bad liar. She even looks a little, I don't know, shifty after she says it, and it's always bothered me. I know. I know. I'm reading too much into it, but it was another source of inspiration for this story. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this so far. I'll try to post the next chapter sometime next week.


	3. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As some of the truth is revealed, the team has to begin trying to make sense of the new reality they face.

* * *

 With steady precision, the bullets find their marks. Bodies fall limp, one after the other. The sound of gunshots rings incessantly for a moment before silence returns to the warehouse.

Bakshi doesn’t bother to turn around. He has unwavering faith in the success of his project. He does pause, however, when he hears Simmons begin walking toward him.

“Come along, pet,” he calls, fully expecting her to follow him as he resumes his path toward the door.

He freezes immediately as the bullet whizzes past his head, just nicking the top of his right ear.

* * *

 “Bakshi, Bakshi, Bakshi,” Simmons croons. “Oh, you poor deluded man. You really have no idea, do you? What was is you said? ‘She’s terrifyingly gifted?’ You don’t know the half of it.”

Baffled, he whips around and what he sees stuns him. With the exception of Bobbi Morse, who is still unconscious on the floor, the SHIELD team remains bound to the wall but unharmed. His Hydra agents, however, are all slumped to the ground, though he can’t see any bullet wounds.

Realizing that he has miscalculated, he reaches into his pocket to signal for backup. Simmons simply laughs at his efforts.

“You really think I haven’t thought of that? No one is coming, Bakshi. It’s just you and me.”

Long before she entered the warehouse, Simmons had incapacitated the few other Hydra agents present at the facility. Bakshi had been arrogant enough to leave her alone once he was convinced that she had settled back into her programming. That was just one more mistake added to the many he had already made concerning her.

Realizing his precarious position, Bakshi tries to escape, sprinting toward the door through which rests his only hope for survival. He needs a weapon if he has any hope of overpowering her. He makes it only a few steps before he stumbles as her bolas wraps around his legs.

The sudden fall knocks the wind out of him, and he barely has time to draw in a breath before she wrenches his arms behind his back and secures them with a smaller version of the devices imprisoning her teammates. Completely aware but uncaring of the fact that she’s nearly strangling him, she pulls him back toward the SHEILD agents by his collar.

“Move an inch and you won’t live to see tomorrow,” she warns before moving to free her teammates. _Once I reroute the power from the control panel and override the security measures_ , she thinks, _I can disrupt the program long enough for the restraints to release their arms_.

A little disoriented by the rapid turn of events and her rough handling, Bakshi voices a question before he can think better of it.

“But how did you break the program?” She’d been so perfect, so compliant. She was a model for how well the modified Faustus method could work.

“Break the program?” she scoffs as she continues to work on the control panel, not even bothering to make eye contact with him. “You might as well have given me a child’s toy. I started manipulating your bloody program within minutes, you imbecile.”

“Minutes?” Coulson inquires hesitantly.

There was no mistaking what Simmons had just said or what it implied, and it gave him an inkling that a Hydra agent impersonating his bio-chemist might actually be one of the best case scenarios at this point. He remembers a cryptic file he had come across in his early examinations of Fury’s toolbox. The puzzling record he had nearly forgotten starts to make sense, and the tentative conclusions he draws trouble him.

“Sir?” Simmons bites out a little harshly, “With all due respect, we don’t really have time for this right now. Dendrotoxin only lasts so long you know.”

“So you didn’t kill them?” Hunter dares to ask.

Frustrated, Simmons jabs at the panel a little harder than necessary before answering: “Of course I didn’t. Who do you think I am? Honestly!”

“Not Simmons,” Fitz accuses lowly. He can’t even begin to process the last twenty minutes, but he is certain of one thing. This woman can’t be Jemma Simmons.

His tone causes her to freeze for a split second before she resumes reprogramming the control panel. She doesn’t bother replying. She’ll have to explain it to them eventually, and she’d rather not do it under threat of re-awakening Hydra agents.

* * *

It takes her only a moment more to complete her task. Suddenly, their restraints open and they all tumble forward. Mack has enough presence of mind to steady Skye before her drugged body crashes to the ground.

“Thanks, big guy,” she slurs. He simply nods at her before passing her off to Hunter as he retrieves Bobbi’s prone form.

Bakshi, who has regained his senses, tries to slide away during the team’s release; he hopes the noise will muffle the sound of his worm-like shuffles. He barely makes it two feet before Simmons digs the heel of her boot into his back.

“Going somewhere, pet?” she jeers before loosening the bolas and hauling him to his feet.

Predictably, he tries to run. She doesn’t even bother attempting to catch him. She simply uses the Night-Night pistol to knock him unconscious. She’s had enough of his grating voice to last her a lifetime and then some anyway.

She’s stronger than they know, but she’s certainly not powerful enough to haul Bakshi’s dead weight from the room. Walking over to Hunter, she motions to Skye.

“I’ll help her. You grab him.” Hunter doesn’t even question the order. He’d just watched this petite scientist take down his highly trained ex-wife. He has no desire to experience the same thing himself.

As Simmons wraps an arm around her waist, Skye lets out a slightly unhinged giggle before speaking, “Simmons! When did you get to be such a bad-ass?”

Simmons sighs wearily; the confidence she has been projecting throughout the whole encounter suddenly seems to deflate substantially: “It’s a rather long story, Skye. One better told when we’re away from here.”

Now that she’s speaking in whole sentences, both May and Coulson are about eighty percent sure that the woman really is Simmons. Speech patterns and diction, like body language, are difficult to imitate perfectly. Beyond that, this woman has had ample opportunity to take them out and hasn’t. Maybe it’s a trap, but it’s one they’ll have to discover after they have escaped from wherever they are.

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell us who you really are,” Fitz protests, moving to stand in front of her as if that will deter her in any way.

“Fitz,” Simmons scolds, annoyance clear in her tone. His protestations help her to rally her flagging confidence. “We really don’t have time for this. I’ll explain everything back at the Bus.”

The inflection of Simmons’s voice on Fitz’s name increases May’s confidence that the woman is their teammate to ninety-nine percent. If she’s wrong, Hydra has better undercover agents than they ever imagined.

“No. You’ll explain it now or you won’t go a step further,” Fitz counters harshly. He is determined to protect his team from this woman who is clearly a threat.

* * *

“Stop this childish…” Simmons begins to say before hurriedly thrusting Skye in May’s direction and shoving Fitz to the side. She ducks immediately, rolling up into a crouch as a bullet flies just where her chest had been. In the blink of an eye, she’s returning fire with one of the Night-Night pistols, downing one of the Hydra agents who had clearly regained consciousness.

“Shit,” she mutters to herself before barking, “Stay here,” to her teammates as she hurries out the door to neutralize any other threats. She grumbles to herself about stubborn Scotsmen and too many questions as she tracks down the other two agents.

She finds the first just coming to in the hallway where she’d knocked him out an hour or so earlier. It’s a simple enough task to take him down with the Night-Night pistol. The other agent, however, is stalking her. Unfortunately for him, she knows it. Unfortunately for her, the team didn’t listen when she told them to stay put.

As she turns the corner, she sees the final Hydra agent at the end of the hallway. She’s ready to put him down, but the noise of the team lumbering down the opposite hallway startles her for a split second, which is enough to throw off her aim by a hair so she misses him. He bolts in the opposite direction. She needs to neutralize him in order to ensure that they can leave safely, but she can’t do so with her team mucking up her plans.

“Follow this hallway and take the second to last door on the right. There should be vehicles parked outside. Get back to the Bus. I’ll meet you there,” she orders before sprinting after the retreating Hydra agent.

“We can’t just…does she really think…what the hell…” Fitz splutters at Simmons’s back. Coulson just grabs his arm and pulls him down the hallway, heedless of the young engineer’s protestations.

They find the SUVs just where Simmons said they would be as gunshots sound in the background. May and Mack give them as thorough a check as they can given the circumstances to ensure the vehicles aren’t booby-trapped in any way. Satisfied with their review but still wary, they cautiously start the engines. Coulson, Fitz, and Skye pile into May’s SUV. Hunter, a slightly lucid Bobbi, and a completely unconscious Bakshi join Mack.

“What about Simmons?” Skye gasps as they pull away from the warehouse. She’s still not completely back to normal, but she’s coherent enough to know that they’ve taken the only two vehicles at the abandoned warehouse, leaving Simmons without any way to get back to the Bus.

Coulson and May share a look. If the woman is an imposter, they don’t want to give her any more opportunities to take them out. If she is Simmons, based on what they’ve seen in the last half hour, she’ll have a plan, though they are a little apprehensive about leaving her even now.

They are saved from having to make a decision one way or the other when Simmons powers around the side of the building on a sleek black motorcycle and takes the point position in their mini-caravan. She looks unscathed, so they assume that she has taken care of the last Hydra agent without any issue.

* * *

Surprisingly, the team is only about 2 hours away from the Bus, but Coulson and May decide to detour slightly to retrieve the vehicles left at the 084 extraction site. Shield doesn’t have enough resources at its disposal to leave the vehicles or the equipment behind. They give Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter instructions to return to the Bus with Bakshi to ensure that he is secured when he comes to.

Deciding she’d like a little more time to herself before their inevitable confrontation, Simmons powers ahead of Mack’s SUV on the way back to the Bus. When she arrives, she hops off the bike and hurries up the ramp, leaving her weapons conspicuously placed at the top. She hopes they’ll recognize and appreciate the fact that she has willingly disarmed herself. Of course, she doesn’t need weapons to be deadly, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Bobbi, Mack, and Hunter attempt to look for Simmons after they escort Bakshi to the Cage and ensure that he is devoid of any cyanide capsules. They don’t want a repeat of last time. They still haven’t found her by the time May, Coulson, Fitz, and Skye return, which is rather impressive considering there are only so many places she could be on the Bus.

Coulson has barely started up the cargo ramp in the jeep when May bolts from the driver’s side of the parked SUV. She hurries to the cockpit to begin preparation for take off. She wants this plane in the air ten minutes ago. They’ve already been compromised once today, and she doesn’t want to give Hydra any more opportunities to take them out.

Though searching during assent is challenging at best, the rest of the team continues the hunt for Simmons. If she is an imposter after all, they don’t want to give her any more time to sabotage or bug the craft.

Still, in the time since their escape from the warehouse, everyone on the team has had ample time to consider what they’ve witnessed. Most will admit that there is enough evidence to support the conclusion that the woman is Simmons. She has the right mannerisms and cadence, and she hadn’t used deadly force on any of the Hydra agents, which matches their expectation of their teammate. She apparently also navigated back to the Bus and disarmed the cloaking device without any hesitation. It would have been nearly impossible for a Hydra agent to know where they had hidden it or to deactivate the device.

* * *

Simmons had spent the thirty or so minutes since her return trying to find some sense of equilibrium. She had only managed to restore a thin veneer of calmness and control given the challenge of avoiding her teammates. They finally catch up with her when she eventually gives into the pain shooting across her body and attempts to treat her wounds. She hadn’t been quite fast enough when taking out the last Hydra agent. His final shot had skimmed her left side and left her with a nasty graze.

She hates to admit it, but she had been reluctant to enter the storage pod. She’s had an aversion to these small, portable spaces ever since she nearly drowned. Still, she knows that they won’t expect to find her there for the same reason, and she does need access to the medical equipment stored in it.

By the time Skye pushes open the door, Simmons had stripped off the top of the cat suit off so that it hangs from her hips. A simple black bra is the only clothing left to cover her from the waist up. The angle in combination with the pain had made treating the wound a bit awkward, so Simmons hasn’t made much progress. She’s turned slightly away from them as they gather in the doorway, but she hears them all the same and releases a long sigh. _Time to face the music_ , she thinks as she turns to meet their horrified gazes.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Simmons isn't actually under Hydra's control. Yay! You didn't really think I'd make her shoot the team, did you? Still, I imagine that only answers some of the questions you probably had after reading the last chapter. Several of those questions will be answered in the next chapter, but you'll probably have a whole slew of new ones too. I like to keep you guessing. I do promise though that everything, and I mean everything, will get explained and resolved eventually. You are just going to have to wait several more chapters for some of those explanations.
> 
> This is probably the last of the really short chapters. I didn't quite want to get into the confrontation in this one. I am still tweaking it a little, and since I am traveling most of next week, it may be the following week before I get that chapter out. Though, I will be spending a lot of time in airports, so I might just be able to get it to you sooner. 
> 
> We're also about to get into a lot more angst in the next several chapters. Just because Simmons isn't under Hydra's control doesn't mean that we shouldn't be worried about her. The proverbial shit is really going to start to hit the fan.
> 
> Anyway, I hope that you've enjoyed this so far and that you'll keep reading to see what happens next.


	4. Confess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reluctantly, Simmons fills in some of the gaps for the team, but the more she explains, the more questions they have. She can only hope that by revealing the truth she can convince them of the danger she poses.

* * *

Simmons knows immediately what has caused their horror, and it’s not the fact that she’s standing there nearly naked from the waist up. It’s the state of her skin that has them so upset. Her back is marred with scars, bruises, and a few fresh wounds. Some of the scars have nearly faded away, but others are still a livid pink that complements the deeper red of the blood welling from the most recent welts and the graze and the sickly combination of mottled greens and blues that mark her bruises.

Bakshi hadn’t been nearly as vicious as the first time she’d endured his methods, but he’d certainly left another set of marks that she would have to come to terms with at some point in her life.

She’s really too tired and in too much pain to deal with this now, but she knows that they won’t let her rest until she gives them at least some kind of explanation. She’s thankful when Skye reaches out to take the gauze from her hands and begins mopping up the blood. At least then Simmons doesn’t have to keep aggravating the wound by twisting herself into a pretzel to treat it.

Skye dresses her injuries with more care than Simmons expects, especially given the circumstances and her recent bout with partial insanity concerning Skye’s changed DNA and abilities. Once she’s as patched up as she’s going to get, Simmons finally speaks.

“If you’ll give me a moment to go change, I’ll tell you what I know. If you are worried that I'm some Hydra agent in disguise, feel free to run a DNA test on that,” she offers while gesturing to the bloody gauze in Skye’s hand. “It’ll be a perfect match to the samples on file.”

She’s desperate to peel herself out of the cat suit. It holds nothing but painful memories for her, and she would like to put as much distance between herself and today as she can before she has to explain anything.

Apparently her request is too much for Fitz. He still doesn’t believe she is Simmons. He’s known Jemma Simmons for nearly half his life, and he’s convinced that the woman he knows isn’t capable of what this woman did.

“No, you’ll stay right there and tell us who the hell you are,” he demands.

“Damn it, Fitz! What is it going to take for you to believe I’m me?” Simmons is exasperated at his insistence that she’s an imposter. She just wants to get this over with so she can crawl in the shower and then into her bed and attempt to forget today even happened.

“Nothing you can say will convince me that you’re Simmons. Tell me what you done with her.”

The rest of the team stands quietly as their two geniuses rant and rave. It’s not really a new occurrence, and the pace and the tone of the argument convince the few members who are still harboring a little doubt that she really is Simmons. They’ve heard too many variations of this fight over the last several months. No Hydra agent, no matter how skilled, could recreate this painful encounter with this degree of accuracy. The woman has to be Simmons, but just to cover all their bases they plan to run the DNA test anyway.

“I haven’t done anything with myself. I am standing right here, you berk, but since you still don’t believe me, take a look,” Simmons challenges as she swings her hair over her left shoulder and exposes the back of her neck. It’s faint, but one of the few birthmarks on her body begins just at the edge of her hairline. Fitz had noticed it once when she had her hair pulled back in the lab and commented that it was shaped like a heart. He’d teased her about it mercilessly many times over the years.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” he argues weakly, still halfway convinced that she’s not who she says she is. He doesn’t want to believe that she’s Simmons. If he does, if it’s truly her, he’s not sure that he can cope. He barely understood the Simmons that returned from working undercover. He has no idea what to do with a Simmons who can take down Bobbi and more than a dozen Hydra agents much less a Simmons who touched him the way she had.

At first, all she does is stare at him. Her gaze is unwavering, and it takes only seconds before he’s so uncomfortable that he looks away. When she speaks again, her voice finally gives away just how weary she is.

“I never thought I would have to say this to you again, Fitz. It’s one thing to be stubborn when you have a point, but it’s another thing entirely to be a right bastard, especially when you know you’re wrong.”

She’d said the same thing to him as they finished building the DWARFs. He had insisted that the synthetic reaction chamber he had created for Sneezy would be more than adequate for the drone when it was analyzing odors. He completely disregarded Simmons’s arguments that the chamber had to be coated in a neutral organic compound to prevent the reagent from both corroding the device and skewing the results. They argued about it for hours before she finally reached her wits’ end and left the lab, telling him to call her when he was ready to listen to reason. He only conceded a few days later after nearly destroying Sneezy twice. It had taken them weeks to mend the rift in both their partnership and friendship.

She doesn’t bother waiting for him to respond. If that doesn’t convince him that she is herself, nothing will. She makes no comment when Skye follows her back to what used to be her living space on the Bus. She would have been surprised if she were left alone to change, though she is grateful that Skye is content to wait outside the door.

* * *

Once inside, Simmons sits heavily on the bed, holding her head in one hand while resting the other on the end of the mattress. She’s a genius—no one will debate that point—but for all her intelligence, she has no idea how she is going to explain all of it to her teammates much less if they will understand what explanation she can give.

For now, she focuses on the task at hand. Removing her boots and the rest of her cat suit is almost more than she can manage. Fatigue has finally caught up with her. Still, she peels the suit off and rummages around in the closet until she finds clothing that won’t irritate her injuries. Her choices are limited. She and Skye share this closet now. Each only keeping a handful of outfits on the Bus in the event of days like today.

Simmons knows that the cropped yoga pants, loose-fitting t-shirt, and knit wrap are far too casual, but she won’t be comfortable in the only other option she has: her usual attire of slacks and a button down. For that matter, she’s not quite back in the headspace to feel relaxed and herself in those clothes. She needs this transition time to come back to herself. The solitude of her return on the bike had helped, but it takes longer each time she shifts back and it worries her.

She forgoes shoes, content to pad back toward the main cabin in her thin socks. If Skye finds her clothing choices surprising, she wisely keeps the thought to herself. At least with her hair mostly pulled back in a stubby ponytail, Simmons looks more like herself than she has in hours. Still, the severe makeup is distracting, so Skye steers Simmons to the bathroom so she can remove it. It takes a few moments, and there is still some residue around her eyes, but Simmons is glad to be free of the cosmetics. She can almost meet her own reflection’s gaze in the mirror. Almost.

When they reach the common area, Simmons makes a conscious choice not to make eye contact with anyone, especially Fitz, as she settles into the only seat left. It’s conspicuously separated from the rest. _At least I’ll be comfortable_ , she thinks, _as I go up against the firing squad_.

* * *

For a moment, the silence is deafening. Coulson quickly realizes that Simmons will need prompting if he wants her to reveal anything. While he hates to phrase his question as an order, he knows that she has a preference for following rules and doing what is expected of her. He hopes the familiarity of carrying out his commands will give her some sense of grounding in all the chaos of today.

“Agent Simmons,” he begins, wanting to affirm for everyone in the room that she is still a member of his team before anything else, “I need you to explain exactly what went down today in as much detail as possible. I don’t care how trivial the detail seems; don’t leave anything out.”

Simmons takes a deep breath and opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Where to start? What to say? She doesn’t know how to make them understand what they saw. It’s all so complicated. For now, she’ll tell them what she can, and she’ll hope that it’s enough. If it isn’t, she’ll deal with that when the time comes.

To her surprise, once she begins talking, she finds it difficult to stop. This has been weighing on her for months.

“The day after they moved me up to the main research laboratories, Bakshi began to subject me to a modified version of the Faustus method,” she begins. “He was absurdly confident in the technique. My mind, as Bakshi told you, fascinated him, but he wanted my conditioning to remain a secret for various reasons. He developed a series of vocalized codes and physical cues intended to force my mind to slip back and forth between states he liked to refer to as ‘Agent Simmons’ and ‘Dr. Simmons.’”

“I know,” she scoffs, “how very creative. The method was modified because, unlike his goal for the other SHIELD agents, he _wanted_ me to develop a separate, dissociative identity. Agent Simmons was still supposed to continue her ‘undercover’ work at the research facility. Dr. Simmons was to be trained as the weapon to take down SHIELD once and for all. Why he ever believed that it was possibly to force someone to develop a dissociative identity through those means I will never know, but his unfounded confidence was instrumental to my ultimate success.”

“As I said, he intended for my identities to be completely separate. I was never supposed to be aware of my new state or even that I had been turned to work for Hydra. Unlike his plan for Agent 33, Bakshi never wanted me to access my real memories as Dr. Simmons. Instead, he thought he had successfully fabricated new ones to give me just cause for wanting to take down SHIELD. I was meant to be his ultimate surprise. He’s overly fond of feeling superior and lording his supposedly brilliant plans over everyone, you know. It’s rather tiresome after a while, honestly,” she admits.

“Still, I let him mold me into whatever weapon he was envisioning to see what he was planning. The goal was always to have me destroy SHIELD from the inside, but he never got the chance to activate my altered state until today. When Reina blew my cover, Bakshi’s initial plans were ruined. Once we captured him, he never had an opportunity to interact with me alone. It would have been too dangerous to attempt to activate my programming with any of you around. You would have caught on too quickly and then all his work would have been for nothing, so he bided his time.”

“Unfortunately for us, we gave him the perfect opportunity today without even knowing it. We all know that Hydra has operatives everywhere, and one happened to see us as we arrived to extract the 084. After alerting other nearby operatives and Bakshi, who Talbot _clearly_ didn’t guard well enough, the operative followed us into the cave. When he started using Bakshi’s vocal codes, I knew what was happening and acted accordingly. I used a Night-Night pistol to knock you all out before the Hydra agents had any opportunity to do it themselves.”

“When we arrived at the warehouse, they separated me from you almost immediately, which, come to think of it, worked to our advantage in the end. Bakshi wasn’t convinced that the vocal codes alone would be sufficient, so he made sure to repeat them and add in his preferred physical cues as well just in case my conditioning had faded,” Simmons explains as she gestures to her back before falling silent.

* * *

She hopes that they’ll be satisfied. She’s told them enough that they should be able to fill in the pieces she has deliberately left out. Perhaps whatever details they invent will be kinder than the truth she would rather not share. Unfortunately, they find her explanation more than a little lacking and press insistently for more information.

“But that doesn’t explain how you knocked me on my ass like I was a newbie at the Academy,” Bobbi cuts in. Her pride is still smarting from being taken out by the member of her team she had always considered the least threatening.

Simmons pauses a moment and considers how to explain. When she finally speaks, she does so cautiously and a bit haltingly. They are venturing into territory she would rather not visit, and she is worried about their reactions. The more she reveals now, the more questions they will have. Her web of half-truths and calculated deceptions is about to unravel, and she wishes they were content with what she’s already revealed because once they know the truth they will never look at her the same way again.

“Bakshi wasn’t _wrong_ when he said I have considerable latent potential,” she begins. “There are some biological realities I won’t ever be able to overcome, of course. For instance, I won’t get any taller and without concerted, consistent physical training I won’t be much stronger. What Bakshi realized more quickly than most is that I am already deadly and I can be more so with additional training.”

“I’m sorry, but what? Jemma, I say this with nothing but love for you, but you’re the least deadly of us all. I could have taken you even before May trained me,” Skye asserts.

Simmons’s reply is sharp and unyielding, her pride getting the best of her. She noticed this unfortunate side effect of her transition early on, but she still hasn’t quite managed to overcome it. Still, they’ve always viewed her as nothing more than a brain, but they don’t seem to understand that her brain is something that should be feared.

“Do you know how to generate tasteless and odorless lethal poisons from common household cleaners?” she babbles, “Do you know all the pressure points of the body, the bones must vulnerable to breaking, or the precise direction and force of the many blows that can knock someone unconscious? Do you know which vertebra to break to cause varying degrees of instant paralysis? Because I do! I’ve known all those things for years. I know every weakness and limitation of the human body, and given the right circumstances and incentives I can and will act on that knowledge. Bakshi knew that. He knew that I have the capacity to be not just dangerous, but utterly destructive, and no one would expect it.”

“It’s bad enough that I have genius-level intelligence. What makes me truly terrifying is combination of that intelligence, an eidetic memory, and extensive mnemonic training. I can learn anything, and I forget nothing. Whatever I am exposed to stays in my mind forever, catalogued away on a shelf until I come across a situation where it’s useful.”

Simmons thought she had come to grips with what her brain could do years ago, but the last several months have taught her that even she isn’t sure what her limits are. Not knowing frightens her as much as her apparently endless potential.

* * *

Fitz is the first one to speak once she finishes this part of her explanation, though he’s talking to himself more than anyone else. He had finally admitted that this woman really was Simmons after her parting words earlier, and now he’s clinging to every explanation, trying to make sense of what would have seemed utterly impossible only yesterday.

“You have a mind palace,” he murmurs in awe at this new detail about her. He had always wondered how she managed to retain so much information and recall it almost effortlessly. Even for a genius it was truly impressive. Then his face falls: “Damn, I _am_ Watson.”

“That’s all well and terrifying, love, but I’ve seen you on the shooting lane,” Hunter goads playfully, “You’re a bit of a hopeless cause.”

“No, I don’t actually think she is,” May interjects over the intercom. She had always been a little suspicious of Simmons’s apparent ineptitude with a gun. There was no logical reason for Simmons to continually fail to master the skill, unless Simmons had been sabotaging herself during their training sessions. The shot Simmons landed just shy of her ear with cool efficiency confirmed May’s suspicions.

“At its foundation, precision marksmanship requires nothing more than an understanding of momentum and a few calculations for trajectory. It really is just a matter of applying relatively simple physics in the moment and having steady hands,” Simmons states quietly, trying to divert attention away from herself, if only briefly. A few of them stare at her as if she’s grown a second head. While the physics of firearms might be easy to explain with rather basic terminology, the type and complexity of the calculations needed for Simmons’s apparent level of accuracy are anything but simple.

“Okay, so your brain’s a deadly weapon,” Mack concedes. “I’m still not really following how you outsmarted Bakshi and a method that has turned some of our strongest agents to Hydra.”

“It never would have worked on me,” Simmons admits reluctantly. She has become increasingly uncomfortable with each round of explanation. As he watches her struggle, Coulson thinks back to the mysterious file in Fury’s toolbox, which is becoming clearer to him by the minute.

“But why?” questions Bobbi. “Agent 33 was trained in advanced interrogation techniques and she still succumbed to the Faustus method. I’ve seen your file. You don’t have any of the training necessary to attempt resisting brainwashing for long, much less to overcome it.

Simmons doesn’t answer. Her discomfort is clearly evident. In the silence, Fitz finally puts the pieces together.

“You’re too clever,” he states emphatically, meeting Simmons’s eyes for the first time since the pseudo-interrogation began.

“That’s nice, Fitz, but intelligence alone isn’t enough to break that kind of mind control,” Bobbi counters immediately.

“No, you don’t understand,” Fitz argues, “She’s literally too clever for it to work. Your brain has to be at least partially susceptible to mental reprogramming, and hers isn’t.” He sounds almost awestruck by the end of his explanation. He’s a genius, even if he can’t get the words out half the time anymore, but he’s only now realizing that Simmons is and has always been on a completely different level.

“More or less,” Simmons agrees, but she does not offer any further comment.

“What do you mean ‘more or less’, Jemma?” Bobbi prompts. She may not be a Fitz or Simmons kind of genius, but she is very intelligent and she won’t be content until she understands how Simmons manipulated the Faustus method.

* * *

Recognizing that Bobbi and the rest of her team will just keep questioning her until they are satisfied, Simmons finally concedes that she needs to try to explain this to them as completely as possible to avoid any misunderstandings.

“It wasn’t exceptionally difficult to determine his end game and to create what he wanted to see,” Simmons admits after an awkward moment of silence, “Unlike the other agents, I could always think around the programming, no matter how long a session lasted, so I used his incessant chatter and his belief in my weaknesses against him.”

“Create how?” Coulson presses even as he sees Simmons curl into herself a little. He’s finally putting together some of the pieces himself, and, if his conclusions are right, his team is even more gifted than he previously thought.

Now they’ve arrived at the crux of the matter, and Simmons is still not sure how to explain it to them. Their eventual misunderstanding is pretty well guaranteed at this point, and she has no idea how to prevent it. It is vital that they see her clearly, perhaps for the first time, because if they don’t… She doesn’t even allow herself to finish that thought.

“I don’t think you can understand how terrifying genius can be,” she begins. Several of them start to protest, but she continues on, effectively cutting them off.

“You’ve seen the products of intelligence applied for the benefit of humanity and for its destruction, yes, but you can’t understand what it is like to live with that potential, to know that you have few if any intellectual rivals and no one to check you. Other than Fitz, none of you understand what I say half the time. I could be spouting nonsense, and you’d never know it. Even Fitz can’t follow me all the time and he is a genius.”

The more she reveals, the more agitated she becomes. Speaking of this out loud reminds her just how far gone she is and just how much is at stake. It’s imperative that they understand the threat she represents.  
  
“Science is a fierce battle between progress and ethics. Sometimes, much of the time actually, ethics loses. I tested Skye’s blood at the Hub even when Coulson explicitly told me to keep it in house because I was too excited by the promise of progress. I experimented with alien DNA simply because it was a new challenge. When I realized just how far I’d drifted, I pulled back so far in the other direction that I was willing to ignore my ethical responsibilities to end the mess I had started. I would have turned on Skye if I hadn’t found my equilibrium again.”

“You all seem to find it mildly amusing that I thrive on rules and protocol. What you apparently don’t realize is that that dependence on guidelines has nothing to do with a desire to be straitlaced and everything to do with keeping myself in check because no one else can. I’m dangerous and frankly a bit unpredictable without some restraints. Today you got a tiny glimpse at what I can do when I willingly ignore most of my morals. Imagine what I could do if I rejected them completely.”

Simmons pauses for a moment to catch her breath. She can see that they want to protest, but something in her expression must have convinced them that now is not the time to interrupt her.

* * *

“When I say I created what Bakshi wanted to see, I mean that I basically fleshed out a new facet, I suppose you might say, of myself. But it wasn’t even so much augmenting as it was embracing really,” she tries to explain, but her words fade away, and she seems to get lost in a moment of introspection.

“So, you created some mental alternate version of yourself that’s kind of evil and Bakshi bought it?” Skye interjects as Simmons’s explanation falters, “Jemma, really? Most of us saw you bomb your cover on the train, and those who didn’t know that you’re a terrible liar.” Her tone is more than a little skeptical by the end.

“What you are describing isn’t at all the same thing!” Simmons rejects emphatically. “A cover is a fabricated identity, yes, but it is separate from one’s own. It’s all false. I _am_ terribly at lying most of the time, but what I did didn’t involve lying really. I made a calculated decision to give into temptation and explore the potential I have always had but never acted on. When I give in, I basically I allow myself to become what might as well be a completely different person while still retaining enough awareness and control to transition back. It’s incredibly risky and dangerous because the more I explore my potential the less inclined I am to reset those limitations.”

In an effort to inject some levity into what has become quite an emotionally heavy and intense conversation, Hunter teases, “So what I am hearing is that the next time we play laser tag for training, I just need to get you into the right headspace and team England will win.”

His attempt fails miserably. Despite her obvious agitation, Simmons has finally settled back into what she considers her right mind as the conversation has continued. She’s shaken off the last of the pretense, and she feels assured that her moral compass is finally back in place. Hunter’s poor attempt at humor makes her worry that they aren't even trying to comprehend what this kind of subterfuge does to her or the mental discipline it requires. Just like Bakshi, they're too excited about her potential to consider the consequences.

“You don’t understand. I effectively have to turn off nearly everything that makes me who I am and give my mind over to being someone, something, I don’t want to be to do those things. If I am there too long, I feel like I won’t ever come back because the temptation is too much. Transitioning back today was more of a trial than it has ever been. I’m already slipping even when I don’t want to. If the obelisk hadn’t altered Reina, I would have killed her. Any one of the shots should have been fatal, and I didn’t care. I just wanted her dead. You know what I was like those days following Trip’s death.”

“Don’t you see? If I settle fully into that state, I pose a significant risk to everyone. I could have killed Bobbi today if I had used just a little more force. If I had wanted to, I could have put that bullet right between May’s eyes instead of next to her ear.”

She bolts out of her seat and begins pacing, so unsettled that she can’t sit still anymore. “Do you have any idea what I can really do if given free reign? If I can focus simply on applying the knowledge I have and gain to generate scientific progress without any attention devoted to ethics? It would terrify you. Weaponize the obelisk to destroy a few million people? Please. That’s the least of your worries. Give me a few days with it and unlimited resources, and I can create a plague that would wipe out half of the world in a few hours. Give me a week, and I can determine how to alter anyone’s DNA to give them powers like Skye’s. It would be a challenge to be sure, but oh how exciting and exhilarating it would be.” As she allows herself to consider the thrill of the challenge and the discoveries she could make, she has to consciously force herself not to rub her hands together as if she’s itching to get started.

Still, the rest of the team is watching her closely as she speaks, and the slightly maniacal glint in her eyes at her final statement finally starts to make them worry a little.

Snapping out of her reverie, Simmons continues, though her body language shifts abruptly as her anxiety begins to overwhelm her: “Bakshi didn’t realize my true potential, and I don't think I did either, but I do now and it terrifies me. The strict adherence to ethics and the moral code I have created for myself are the only things keeping me from becoming an even more insidious monster than Skye’s father. That’s the logical end of my potential, you see. I started a dangerous game when I decided to deceive Bakshi, and I think I am going to end up losing in the end. What he tried to do to me and what he did to those other agents is intolerable, but what I’ve willingly done to myself is worse. I knew the dangers, but I still ignored the limitations I set for myself and in jumped headfirst, too conceited to believe I would succumb to the lure. Resisting the temptation was hard enough when I didn’t know what it would feel like to give in. Now that I do….” She lets the statement hang.

“Simmons!” Skye interjects passionately. “How can you even say that? You’re the most selfless person I know!”

“But I’m not!” Simmons denies forcefully. If the last few months have taught her anything it is that she was good by choice not by any innate quality. “You all seem to assume that I am inherently good. The reality is really quite the opposite: before Hydra, I chose not to be depraved, and now I don’t know that I can trust myself to keep true to that choice.”

Simmons turns her back to them and drops her gaze to the floor: “I’m ashamed to admit it to you, but as awful as the research I conducted once they admitted me to the development labs was I still enjoyed it. I relished the opportunity to work with cutting-edge technology without restrictions and with access to whatever resources I might demand. SHIELD, for all its resources, does believe in having some limitations; Hydra doesn't. I was helping them determine how to massacre millions of people, and I reveled in the challenge and the thrill despite the consequences. It was such a fascinating puzzle, and I just wanted to put the pieces together.”

She pauses, turning back to them but not quite meeting anyone’s eyes: “I wish today had never happened because now when you look at me you are always going to see the kind of potential Bakshi did and speculate if it could be leveraged safely.”

Mustering up what little courage she has left, she finally looks Coulson square on for the first time since entering the room. “Please try to understand that it can’t,” her voice breaks a little on the last word. “I became what Bakshi wanted to serve a purpose, but I don’t want to explore my potential any further. If I do, I don’t know who I’ll be or what I’ll do. I’m afraid of myself, and you should be too.” 

* * *

She doesn’t wait for any of them to respond before escaping from the room. She can’t bear to be under their scrutinizing gazes any longer or to answer any of the hundreds of questions she is sure they still have. Once she is out of their line of site, she races through the plane, desperate to tuck herself away in some forgotten corner where they can’t find her. By the time they begin looking for her, she’s managed to do exactly that.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter should fill in some of the gaps from the previous three. It relied more on dialogue since Simmons had a lot of explaining to do. At least now we know why she could do what she did in chapters one and two. Basically, the premise of this whole story is that Simmons is considerably more intelligent than she is in the show (I will eventually get to the mysterious file in Fury's toolbox that will give even more background to this part of the story). 
> 
> I figured the combination of her intelligence, an eidetic memory, and a mind palace would make Simmons a force with which to be reckoned. Given her knowledge of science and her steady hands (because she is the one who provides most of their medical treatment), I didn't think it was too much of a stretch to have her put some of that knowledge in action (i.e., knocking Bobbi out or having excellent marksmanship). I also think that level of intelligence would be enough to prevent the Faustus method from working on her. Like she says in the chapter, no matter how long the session, she could always think around the procedure and remain in control of her mind.
> 
> I also wanted to provide some reason for her love of rules and regulations, but trust me, while she is dangerous, Simmons isn't nearly as dangerous as she wants to believe she is. She is still Simmons after all. It's just going to take her awhile (i.e., several more chapters) to come to terms with everything and find the place where she can be comfortable with herself again.  
> Right now, she is incredibly conflicted about what she has done and what it means for her in the end. She can't see the situation clearly (hence some of the outbursts and more unsettling/dramatic parts of her explanation). She truly believes that she is on a path to becoming the next Cal. 
> 
> That being said, in the next chapter, we get to see just what happens when the team ignores her final warning and forces her to embrace her potential anyway. I only have an outline of that one so far, so it may be a few weeks before it is ready for posting. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for sticking with me on this story.


	5. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When forced to return to the site of her worst nightmares, Simmons finally sinks completely into her training, leaving a path of utter destruction in her wake. 
> 
> Please note, this chapter contains fairly graphic descriptions of violence and references to sexual assault.

Though reeling from the dream, Simmons has enough presence of mind to stifle the scream that would have pierced the eerie quiet that settled over the base in the early morning hours. The preternatural silence of the usually busy base had once been a comfort to her, but now it makes her wary of what lurks beyond sight. She has never been afraid of the dark until now.

Peering into the pitch black void of her room, she shudders, feeling phantom hands caressing her skin possessively. Only sheer will allows her to force back the feelings of revulsion and nausea. Before their most recent encounter with Hydra, she had nearly convinced herself that she had forgotten the feeling of his hands on her body. Now she is sure she will never forget, and that certainty leaves her feeling even more unsettled than she already does. 

She keeps waiting for the backlash—the inevitable moment when the team wakes up from their apparent stupor and realizes that she is too dangerous and unstable to remain with them. Each day her unease grows as they appear to treat her revelations with nothing but nonchalance in most cases and barely restrained delight in others. Despite her warnings, they don’t seem to understand the threat she poses.

So she waits, feeling as if she is walking on the edge of a knife every moment of every day since their return. The nervous energy thrumming through her body has become a constant source of distraction and discomfort, but she is too afraid to exert herself physically where any of them can see to relieve the tension. A few rounds with a punching bag or even some time alone at the shooting range might help her rid herself of some of the anxiety, but she doesn’t want them witnessing any more of the results of Hydra’s training, and, if she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t want to give into that training unless absolutely necessary.

Still, she concedes, she is never going to fall back to sleep now, and it is very unlikely that anyone else will be awake at three in the morning. With cautious, practiced movements, she slinks from bed, still using all her senses to try to detect anything potentially threatening in her immediate vicinity. She has developed a deep mistrust of her environment, even the spaces in which she once felt secure, because she can no longer predict her reactions with any kind of certainty. She had nearly knocked Skye down yesterday when the younger agent snuck up behind her. Only her quick reflexes kept her from harming her teammate.

Dressing quickly in the first workout appropriate clothing she can find, she creeps silently through the darkened hallways to one of the many training rooms. She would give nearly anything to be able to escape the base for a few hours to run outside, but, knowing that it isn’t an option no matter how hard she wishes, she settles for one of the treadmills tucked away in the far corner. From that vantage point, she has a clear view of the only entrance to the room and the hallway beyond. No one else should be awake at this time of the morning, but she isn’t willing to take a chance of interacting with anyone unexpectedly.

For the same reason, she only places one of the ear buds in as she queues up a playlist and prepares to try to run out some of her built up energy. Thirty minutes into the run she feels marginally better. Her stride is smooth and the pace, though quicker than most would expect her to run, barely makes her breathe harder than she would if she were walking quickly.

She has nearly zoned out completely when the lyrics of the current song catch her attention.  _I can turn it on—be a good machine_. She grits her teeth against the memories those words evoke. Now that she’s paying attention, she can’t help but feel that this song should become her anthem.

 _But I’m only human, and I crash and I break down_. She wonders when that breakdown might happen. She can feel it edging closer each day. She knows it is only a matter of time before she’s thrown into another situation that finally snaps her carefully constructed control. She works for SHIELD after all. It’s an occupational hazard.

Still as she listens to the song, her fleeting sense of calm fades away and gives rise to a new level of agitation. She’s more afraid than she has ever been in her life because she knows that she is no longer in complete control. Her foundations are crumbling, and her fears are beginning to tear her apart. She knows this, but for all she knows she can’t stop it from happening. She can’t stem the flow no matter how hard she tries. One more push before she can find her center again and she’ll go over the edge.

As her disquiet grows, she punches up the speed on the treadmill until she is all but sprinting, hoping that the focus needed to maintain that pace will at least keep her mind partially occupied. She runs as if the hounds of hell are chasing her for far longer than she should, her breath coming in short, painful pants, before her step falters and she crashes to her knees, the belt rubbing raw spots on her skin before dumping her dazed onto the floor. 

She remains in a tangled heap of limbs until her racing pulse and breathing slow to what a generous person would considered the high side of normal. As her sweat cools into an uncomfortable salty crust on her skin, blood seeps sluggishly from the grazes on her knees and palms, and she suspects that she’s aggravated her other wounds as well, though the endorphins dull the pain.

Still caught up in her thoughts and the sting of her latest injuries, Simmons never notices the shadowy figure frozen at the end of the hallway as she limps back to her room several minutes later. Once her door closes, May lets out the breath she didn’t even know she was holding. At first, she considers calling out to her teammate, but recent experiences have taught her that catching Simmons unaware might not be in her best interest. Nevertheless, May is concerned for the younger agent, so she forgoes her morning Tai chi to check the security feeds. As far as she knows, Simmons is not one for early morning rambles through the base. Something is amiss.

It takes her several moments to find Simmons on the footage, but when she does May frowns. She knows a coping mechanism when she sees one, and her frown deepens when she see the Simmons in the video start running as if her very life depends on it. In that moment, May understands that perhaps it does. She means to confront Simmons later in the day, determined not to let her teammate attempt to deal with her new reality alone, but she never has an opportunity.

Unfortunately for them all, Hydra rears its ugly heads, and the breakdown Simmons fears comes sooner and with more force than she ever imagined. Before the sun sets again, she discovers that even her worst fears aren’t even close to the reality of the horrors she can unleash.

* * *

 

When she reaches Coulson’s office for an unplanned debrief a few hours later, Simmons knows something is wrong even if her head is muzzy from the lack of proper rest. The tension in the room is nearly palpable.

Bobbi, Hunter, Fitz, and Mack had left the previous morning on what should have been a relatively routine supply run, at least in terms of SHIELD supply runs. In addition to the more banal necessities like food, clothing, and cleaning supplies, they were also en route to an old SHIELD base to requisition some of the technology and medical supplies that should have been left after the first falling out with Hydra. SHIELD needed all the resources it could get its hands on, particularly since Hydra didn’t show any sign of slowing down its assaults.

They should have arrived back just after midnight, but their conspicuous absence from the meeting indicates that not everything has gone according to plan. More troubling is the grimace gracing Coulson’s normally placid face. Very little ruffles him to the point of a visual display. What does is usually very grim.

“Three hours ago, at 0500, we received a severely distorted message from Agent Morse,” he begins gravely. “Based on the intelligible content, we think our team encountered a group of Hydra operatives who subdued them and took them to one of Hydra’s facilities. I’m sure it goes without saying that we need to get our agents back ASAP.”

“Do we even know where they’ve taken them?” questions Skye anxiously.

“We do thanks to Agent Fitz,” Coulson responds, a slight tone of pride and relief evident even through his worry. “He finished working on the prototype of what he assures me is an undetectable tracking device just before they left. He placed one on himself and Agent Hunter to test their functionality.”

He turns to the holo-table, gesturing with his hands in such a way as to make the blue prints of a building rise from the surface.

“It took us a few hours to figure out the receiving device Fitz left here, but if his prototypes are in fact working correctly, he and Hunter at least have been taken here,” he comments, pointing at the projection of the building. Skye notices that Coulson has been looking at Simmons since he brought up the blueprints, though she doesn’t understand why until Simmons makes a panicked choking sound when she recognizes the compound.

“They’re at the lab.” She can barely hear her strangled words over the blood rushing in her ears. She, better than anyone in this room, knows what goes on in that building: the horrific experiments, the complete lack of morals or ethics, the delight in wreaking havoc and inflicting pain, and the practice of subjecting agents to unimaginable psychological warfare.

Shaking noticeably, she locks eyes with Coulson. He winces at the sight of the pain and despair in her gaze. He has dreaded relaying this information to her since the moment he learned of team’s location. He has watched her struggle to find herself in the days since their last altercation with Hydra, and he knows this moment has the potential to break her to the point that they might not be able to pull her back together again.

He’s even more reluctant to reveal the next bit of information, but he knows that he needs her help if they want to have any hope of extracting their team relatively unscathed. She needs to go in knowing all the facts. Still, he wishes that he didn’t have to put her in this situation.

“Yes, Agent Simmons. Based on the feed from Fitz’s device, it looks as if they’ve been taken to the same location of your undercover work. What’s more, we think at least Agents Fitz and Mackenzie are likely injured. We’re not sure of the severity of those injuries, but we need to get in and get out as quickly as possible.”

“Wait, how do you know Fitz and Mack are hurt,” demands Skye, her concern warring with a burning desire to get on the quinjet immediately, shoot first, and ask questions later.

“The last segment of Bobbi’s transmission is heavily distorted due to interference, but it’s all we have for now,” Coulson discloses before tapping the surface of the table a few times to bring up the audio feed.

The static makes the few words that do come through very difficult to understand, but the concern in Bobbi’s voice is unmistakable as is the pained shriek that could only belong to Fitz.

“ _………oulson……..fire fight……..dozen Hydra operatives………….shit, cover me………….god, Fitz!................................................back up, emergency medical…………………Mack, no!.............................................captured.......................................”_

As she listens to the panicked voice of her teammate and Fitz’s sharp, pained cry, unprecedented, boiling rage overshadows Simmons’s feelings of fear and dread within a split second. Hydra had already done too much damage to Fitz, taken too much from him, and left him feeling useless even though it wasn’t true in the least.

Overwhelmed by her fury and the absolute need to rectify this wrong, she transitions smoothly into her training, never once questioning the nearly unconscious decision despite her fears. Eyes narrowed in cold fury, her fist clinched so hard her knuckles are white and her fingernails bite into the palms of her hands, she lets out a feral snarl before asking a question in a tone that hints that unspeakable horrors may be in store for their team’s captors.

“What is the plan?”

If Coulson, May, and Skye are unnerved by this sudden change in their teammate, they wisely keep it to themselves. Having borne witness to Simmons’ capabilities, they recognize that they’ll need her to use every bit of advanced training and knowledge she has in the coming hours, despite her warnings of the danger to them and herself. What they don’t realize is that the display Bakshi had her give in the abandoned warehouse was almost comically superficial in comparison to depth of her abilities. Only when the smoke clears will they realize the horror of what they’ve implicitly asked her to unleash.

* * *

 

As Simmons halfway listens to Coulson’s plan and adds her own suggestions from time to time given her knowledge of the facility, she uses the rest of her mind to concoct her own rescue plan. Coulson’s will work, but it involves more skulking in shadows and non-confrontation techniques than she feels are deserved in this moment.

Hydra has taken her teammates. They are probably being subjected to appalling mental and physical horrors, and Simmons is in no mood to follow Coulson’s lead this time. Hydra deserves to see the final outcome of their poor decisions, and she is more than happy to show them.

She nods and agrees at appropriate moments, the other agents unaware of her dark thoughts and plans. When they break a few moments later to prepare for the mission, Simmons immediately heads to the lab. She has only a few minutes to gather what she needs, and she is determined to make those minutes count.

While unleashing biological agents might appease her need for slow, painful vengeance, she can’t guarantee that they won’t harm her teammates as well. She needs weapons with immediate results, infallible accuracy, and no risk of dispersion from one person to the next.

Smiling, she tips a handful of blow darts with a cocktail of highly potent, fast-acting nerve agents she had developed in her spare time a few weeks ago based on a lab report she’d seen while undercover. While she knew that Hydra was still more than half a year away from creating a viable product, she wanted to be prepared for the moment that they did, especially since she knew that they had also realized that the weapon could be introduced directly into the bloodstream rather than through more typical inhalation methods, making it all the more dangerous.

She didn’t feel overconfident when praising herself for creating a weapon that was likely 10 times more effective than anything Hydra would develop, but she hadn’t intended for it to be used as a weapon initially. She had only created it to determine how best to counter the effects given the known antidotes for nerve agents and their sometimes unfortunate side effects. Not even Butyrylcholinesterase could protect an agent against this cocktail. She’s made considerable progress on the treatment, but the lab rats still show signs of lasting neurological damage and paralysis. _With what I’m planning, I won’t need the antidote today_ , she muses, _so it doesn’t really matter that it isn’t up to my exacting standards._

Equipped with her poisonous bounty, she sprints back to her room, pausing only a moment to force down a brief feeling of revulsion as she wriggles into her cat suit, which still bears a hole from the bullet graze. She plans to cover the vulnerable spot with a Kevlar vest, so it’s the least of her worries. From there, she moves quickly to one of the lesser-used armories.

The case she pulls from the back shelf is utterly forgettable, which is exactly the point. Popping the locks, she gazes in admiration at the Splinter Bombs. She’d made a few modifications on Toshiro Mori’s original design, of course. She likes to think hers are a bit more elegant aesthetically not to mention much more customizable in terms of the timing of their detonation. Then again, her best modifications have probably been the biometric sensors that ensure they will only respond to a handful of users and the reduction of the overall size of the device. Her Splinter Bombs are approximately half the size and weight of Mori’s, making them easier to conceal and use. Deciding that she won’t need to inflict this particular brand of retribution on many people, she only attaches six to the special holders that then wrap securely around her thighs.

She then moves on to more traditional weaponry. As much as she has enjoyed the power of an assault rifle on the shooting lane, she realizes that this mission calls for a little more finesse than is possible with such a weapon. Instead, she chooses a few pistols with silencers and a collection of knives. She deliberately leaves the I.C.E.R. untouched. There is no sense taking a weapon she has no plans of using.

Armed and eager to begin the rescue mission, she returns to the hanger, never bothering to address the disbelieving stares and dropped jaws left in her wake. _Let them wonder,_ she thinks. _Let them fear_.

She arrives in time to see their flight maintenance crew make their last sweep of the Bus. Striding onto the plane, she straps herself in and spares only a tight grimace of a smile for her fellow agents, who eye her attire warily. Before fastening his own belt, Coulson hands her an I.C.E.R. His expression indicates that he expects her to take it and use it. Realizing that her refusal will cost them precious moments, Simmons takes the gun willingly and tucks it in the back of her belt. She has no plans to use it, but she’ll let Coulson blind himself with the illusion that she means to disarm rather than dispatch.

* * *

 

The flight from the Playground to the SHIELD airfield just outside of Pittsburgh is blessedly short. They only have enough time to review the extraction plan once more before they all have to prepare for the mission ahead. Simmons spends her time ensuring that the medical pod is ready for whatever treatments might be necessary. The small, confined space still makes her heart race even a year after her experience in the Caribbean. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to enter one without feeling anxious.

Once they land, they pile into the least conspicuous SUV and begin to make their way toward Hydra Laboratories. They store the vehicle in an alley before making their way toward the compound on foot. It is fortunate that it’s the weekend given that they have to conduct this mission in broad daylight. It’s easy to avoid the few people who are on the street as they near the facility.

When Simmons motions for them to stop, they do so immediately, trusting her knowledge of the compound and its security measures. Bobbi might have been Head of Security during her undercover work, but Simmons, due to fear of discovery, had been hyper aware of any surveillance and other security equipment, and her eidetic memory has ensured that she hasn’t forgotten a single camera or alarm. She’s frankly a little shocked to see that Hydra doesn’t seem to have added anything new to their measures since her cover was blown.

She leads them in a wide arc around the main building to the one blind spot in the cameras. From this position, she should be able to get them to the smallest of the delivery entrances, which should have only a few guards this time on a Saturday afternoon. She’s pleased to see that she’s right, but frustrated when May and Skye incapacitate the three Hydra agents with their I.C.E.R.s. She’d rather not risk their eventual return to consciousness; that was what left her with the still healing wound on her side after all. This time around, she would prefer permanent rather than transient incapacitation.

Gritting her teeth, she follows May who has taken the point position for now. Simmons just bides her time. She refuses to creep down hallways at a snail’s pace to try to spare these people’s lives while the wellbeing of her teammates is in question. Coulson, May, and Skye may be fine with that plan, but she won’t have anything to do with it. If the Hydra operatives get in her way, she is going to eliminate the threat they pose once and for all.

When they turn the corner, Simmons sees her chance. The two Hydra guards patrolling the hallway have spotted them, and they have to duck back behind the corner to avoid their shots. While her teammates attempt to subdue the guards with shots from the I.C.E.R.s, she makes a break for it, rushing down the hallway and taking out the agents with precision.

Mid-run she flicks one of her throwing knives in their direction and is quite pleased with the outcome. Simmons knows that these knives, due to physics, won’t be able to cause much damage. Her intention in throwing the blade was to make the operatives flinch at the approaching weapon, which would give her enough time to take them out through other means. Her well-timed and perfectly aimed shot does just that and also catches one of them in the hollow of his throat. The force of the blow is only enough to create a shallow cut before the blade falls to the floor. Nevertheless, the blow is enough to prompt the guard to drop his gun and reach for his neck. He needn’t have bothered.

By the time his hand starts to move, Simmons has reached him and slit the tender skin of this throat with her combat knife. She doesn’t even flinch at the feeling of blood on her hands when the blade severs his jugular. Pirouetting gracefully, she repeats her performance on the other guard, leaving them both to fall at her feet in a growing pool of blood. She never even bothers to look back at her teammates as she sprints further in the building following her own rescue plan and taking down any Hydra agents who dare cross her path.

* * *

 

Skye can’t help the choked gagging noise that escapes her mouth at the sight of Simmons’ actions. Even having seen the older woman in action at the warehouse, she never imagined her capable of such wanton violence. Unfortunately for her, she has only seen the tip of the iceberg.

As she, Coulson, and May moved further into the building, they are confronted time and time again by Simmons’s work. Bodies litter the floor—some dead, others in the final stages of dying. Coulson isn’t sure which is worse: the operatives with the tiny blow darts protruding from their bodies, those with perfect bullet holes through their foreheads, the ones laying in pools of blood, or the two who are shattered to pieces. When they find the first agent who hasn’t quite succumbed to the nerve agent cocktail, Coulson decides that the lingering death is the worst.

The Hydra scientist gasps for air with bloody saliva pouring from her mouth as violent convulsions contort her limbs into unimaginable angles. Unable to offer any other relief to the suffering woman, Coulson levels his I.C.E.R. at her head and fires one shot. She will still die, but at least she won’t have to be aware of her own painful demise like Simmons had clearly wanted.

Seeing the devastation his agent has wrought in such little time, Coulson finally concedes that they all should have listed to Simmons when she warned them against asking her to use her training. All they can do now is follow her trail of carnage and hope it will lead them to their missing teammates and a Simmons who can be talked back into her right mind.

* * *

 

She would be lying if she said that she wasn’t reveling in her power. She had worked with these people. She had seen them delight in making discoveries that would hurt others. She had witnessed them develop weapons that had no business existing. And worst of all, she had helped. Now she has the power and the excuse to undo some of what she has done, and she isn’t going to waste the opportunity.

When she reflects on her actions later, she will berate herself for wasting time better spent rescuing her team, but in the moment she can only see red: the red on her hands, the red of the Hydra symbol, the red of the lights announcing her presence. She sinks deep into that world of red, and gives herself over completely to the malevolent thoughts and rampant anger running through her head.

_These people deserve to die. They can’t be trusted. They wanted to hurt the world. They hurt my team. They hurt Fitz._

An even tinier voice then sounds at the far edges of her mind: _They hurt me_.

She forces that thought back. This is not about her. It’s not. It’s about making sure that no one else gets hurt. It’s about setting Hydra Laboratories back months if not years in their research. It’s about protecting the world.

So she rushes though the research labs like a vengeful spirit, cutting through power cords, smashing computers and research equipment, taking down scientists unfortunate enough to be working in the labs on the weekend, and leaving a wake of utter destruction in her path.

Along the way, she does encounter a few guards who take a little longer to subdue and leave her with parting gifts before she finally takes them out. Adrenaline is probably the only thing keeping her going given the extent of her injuries. A nasty gash cuts across her forehead, leaving a slow trickle of blood trailing down her face and obscuring her vision at times. It complements the trail of blood seeping from her mouth from where she’d bitten her cheek when struck with a punch and the sluggishly bleeding cuts all over her body from the guards’ knives. She is also fairly certain at least two of her fingers and three of her ribs are broken, and she’ll have a horrendous bruise on her left knee and shin by the end of the day. One guard had nearly dislocated her right shoulder, leaving it flaring with a deep ache.

All in all, she is in terrible shape by the time she enters the room where her friends have been held captive. It surprises her that they all seem relatively unharmed compared to the state she expected to find them in. Cuffs identical to those used in the warehouse are restraining Bobbi and Hunter to the wall. Fitz and Mack are bound to chairs bolted to the ground with the same technology. The major difference this time are the odd looking devices covering each of their mouths. It reminds Simmons of the silencing device used on Loki after the battle of New York, but these seem to be a newer model or different design than the one used on the God of Mischief. Their purpose is clear though: keep the prisoners from talking to each other and plotting any kind of escape.

Other than a few superficial cuts and some blooming bruises, Bobbi and Hunter appear to be fine. Mack’s only noticeable injury is a fairly substantial though shallow knife wound to the chest. Fitz’s injuries are a little more extensive but not life-threatening based on her quick assessment. Beyond the bruises littering his skin, he looks as if he has also taken a blow to the head, blood matting his short curls, and his arm seems to be broken again. She wonders just how many times a person can break a limb before the pieces are too shattered to ever be whole again.

Even their gags don’t prevent the sound of surprise from carrying through the room when they catch sight of her. She still has the bloody combat knife clutched in one hand and a pistol in the other. Covered in congealing gore from both her injuries and the ones she’s inflicted, eyes darkened, brows narrowed, lips in a pronounced frown, she appears as a harbinger of death itself.

She doesn’t speak. Not a single sound escapes her bloodied lips as she once again dismantles a control panel for the restraints. As soon as their limbs are free, Mack, Hunter, and Bobbi remove their gags. Heedless of her bloodstained fingers, Simmons removes Fitz’s since his injury prevents him from doing it himself. Seeing him mostly whole helps to reduce the fury coursing through her veins, but it is not enough to overcome the need for vengeance that has taken hold of her. In this moment, she is not sure that anything ever will, especially when she catches sight of the Faustus device in the corner. Her utter revulsion for the machine, its creators, and everything it stands for leaves her shaking with a new wave of barely restrained rage. She is a slave to her anger now, and she knows it.

She still doesn’t speak as she motions for them to follow her back down the hallway. She knows that if she opens her mouth, if she verbalizes any of the thoughts running through her head, she will lose what little of her sanity remains. With Bobbi supporting Mack and Hunter helping Fitz, Simmons leads them back toward the exit. It takes only moments for them to cross paths with May, Coulson, and Skye, who are conspicuously free of injuries. Equally as shocked as the other four agents when confronted with Simmons’s appearance, they can’t help their initial feelings of repulsion, but they try not to let it show. None of them are sure how Simmons might react, and given the brutality she has shown since entering the facility, they don’t really want to find out.

They have nearly made it back to their entry point when the seven remaining Hydra guards confront them with a considerable arsenal of weapons. Fury consumes Simmons as she catalogs their armaments and notices at least three that she had made some contribution to during development. They evidently plan to use her own work against her and the rest of her team. She plans to ensure that they never have the chance.

Before Coulson, May, and Skye can fire their I.C.E.R.s, Simmons has already flung her remaining four Splinter Bombs at the guards holding the most dangerous of the weapons. She finds their crumbling forms perversely satisfying. Now they know how poor Trip had felt during his final moments.

Reminded in that moment of all the pain and suffering Hydra and its affiliates have caused her team, Simmons barrels toward the three remaining guards, bloody teeth bared, and a knife in each hand. Bullets would be too kind and the nerve agents too swift for these despicable excuses for human beings. _They need to know what it is to suffer_ , she thinks. _The need to feel the pain they cause_.

Two of the guards engage her while the third fires on the rest of the team. Too preoccupied with trying to protect their unarmed and injured teammates, Coulson, May, and Skye don’t have time to try to rein in Simmons.

Almost completely unhinged, Simmons slashes and turns, slices and lunges, seeking to do the most damage she can as the two guards attempt to disarm her. She saved these guards for last for a reason. They had been the ones Bakshi had tasked with training her. They had helped her to become a merciless killing machine. Being back in this place has reminded her in sharp clarity of what she endured at their hands, and that spurs her mania to new heights.

When one manages to catch her right wrist, she twists with him, dropping down to stab the knife in her left hand through his foot. His howls of pain are music to her ears. How many times had they left her bloody and bruised? How many times had they slammed her to the mats? How many times had they held her down and rutted against her, threatening her with sexual violence in the name of making her tougher and stronger? They were about to see just how tough she had grown.

All the rage and terror, the despair and revulsion she has carried about them and for herself erupts out of her in a violent cry that bespeaks of unimaginable anguish and rage. The ferocity of the noise startles everyone else in the room, and Simmons takes advantage of the moment to slash across the other guard’s forearm, thereby preventing him from using at least that arm to attack her. Still, her objective is to end his life, not incapacitate him. Her next attack, intended to pierce his lung, is ultimately unsuccessful. If she were Bobbi or Mack, she might have enough force to penetrate the Kevlar vest. As herself and with such a poor angle, she only manages to slice through a few of the layers.

Immediately reassessing her options, she rolls a few feet away from the guards. She’s running out of energy and her wounds are beginning to get the best of her. She needs a distraction, so she uses one of the oldest tricks in the books: she releases a smoke bomb. The smoke itself is non-lethal, but it gives her enough cover to sneak behind the guards and stab them with her final two blow darts. She wanted to take them out under her own power with just the skills they had instilled in her, but she has to content herself with the knowledge that she did at least create what will lead to their demise.

When the smoke clears a moment later, the bodies on the floor are still twitching as the last remnants of life fade from two of the men who had subjected her to hell on Earth. As their dying breaths sound in her ears, she wonders why she doesn’t feel more at peace. She’s done exactly what she came here to do. She rescued her team, inflicted so much damage on the labs that Hydra will need months or years to recover, and ensured that the guards and scientists who seemed intent on destroying everything she held dear paid for their crimes against humanity. She stares intently at the bodies of the men as one final shot rings through the air.

* * *

 

After Skye finally subdues the last Hydra agent with her I.C.E.R., she expects for someone to begin talking. They still have to get back to the SUV and back to the Bus without being caught, and that is going to require some kind of plan. When the only sound that she hears is ragged breathing, she turns her gaze to where Simmons stands staring at the ground, a ring of quickly dissipating grey smoke floating away from her battered and bloody body.

For a long moment, the only sound in the corridor is Simmons’s breathing. When she finally looks up, her soulless eyes pierce them to their cores. She is even more unrecognizable to them than she was in those initial moments in the warehouse. Her eyes move quickly over each of their forms, cataloging their injuries and attempting to triage so that she can treat them as quickly and efficiently as possible once they return to the Bus. Her mind has officially moved on to the next item that requires her attention, effectively cordoning itself off from the violence she has just committed. It is in the past, and as such is no longer her concern.

Calmly, she reaches down to extract the knife from the dead guard’s foot, blood dripping off the end as she returns it to its sheath on her belt. It doesn’t faze her at all. She’s never been a stranger to the sight of blood. Her teammates aren’t either, but they are still horrified by her apparent detachment from the moment. She looks completely unruffled and unconcerned that she has just killed more than two dozen people in the span of an hour.

She wants to take a closer look at Fitz’s and Mack’s injuries before they leave the facility. She’s not convinced that her initial visual assessment is telling her the whole story, and she won’t add to the harm Hydra has already done to them by being negligent now. Eyes firmly trained on Fitz, she takes one step forward before Fitz flinches forcefully, taking an unconscious step back as his face reveals the sense of nausea he is fighting.

She’d tried desperately to warn them, he remembers in this moment. He’s been too stunned before now to think too much about what he sees. She’d tried to make them see reason. She’d asked them never to make her give into this madness. Yet, here she is, covered in blood, injured to the point of imminent collapse, and apparently completely indifferent to what she has done.  He’d been impressed when he finally understood the depth of her intelligence and how she could apply it, but now he’s horrified to see that she was right all along. She _is_ dangerous. She _is_ a threat. Her potential _can’t_ be used safely.

They should have listened. They should have taken her fears more seriously. SHIELD is no better than Hydra for forcing her hand this way. No, he admits. It’s worse. Hydra had unlocked this door and shown Simmons what could be, but SHIELD had opened it wide and forced her through it despite her protestations. He is unspeakably enraged and appalled that Coulson and May would ask this of her. She’d already suffered twice to save them from Hydra, and the third time is clearly the charm in this case. Before his eyes, Leo Fitz and the rest of the team watch as what remains of Jemma Simmons crumbles.

* * *

 

His immediate revulsion reaches the small part of her that has remained untouched by Hydra’s training. Unlike every time before, she comes out of the fog instantaneously. It’s disorienting. She usually needs some kind of transition period to feel like herself again, but she does in this moment without any time lapse whatsoever.

His revulsion pains her, so she drops her gaze and immediately sees her hands. At first she can’t even process what she sees. They’re stained, so dark and discolored with blood and bruises that they don’t even look like they belong to a human much less to her. As her gaze shifts to the bodies and ash piles littering the floor, her breathing begins to pick up and her body starts to shake. The reality of what she has done floods her mind and nearly brings her to her knees. 

What finally breaks her is the unmistakable fury and disgust on Fitz’s face when she looks back at him. It confirms all her worst fears. She is a monster and now he is as certain of it as she is. He can’t even hide his revulsion at what she has become. She can’t bear to look at the rest of the team and see similar expressions on their faces.

She sucks in breath after breath, never feeling as if she is getting enough oxygen. It’s too much. She’s lost them, and she deserves their disgust. How could they ever trust her again knowing this kind of gratuitous brutality is at her core? What kind of senseless killing machine has she become? She should have left as soon as the Bus landed the last time, but she had been so desperate to feel that she was still worth something despite what she had allowed Hydra to do to her and what she had allowed herself to become.

No more, she vows. She won’t subject them to the danger she poses anymore. She can’t in good conscience, if she even has one at this point, ask that of them. Bobbi can take care of their injuries and Fitz is more than capable of running the Science Division. They don’t really need her. Still, she allows herself one more moment of weakness to take in Fitz’s face. It will be the last time she sees him, and, while she wishes he were smiling, she’ll take what she can get and be grateful for it.

He knows the moment she breaks. He swears he can see the light dim from her eyes and the strength drain from her body. She seems to deflate before him, looking through him rather than at him, and the tremors running through her body make it look like she will splinter into pieces like what is left of Hydra agents scattered about the room.

When she refocuses on his face, she seems to steel herself against some kind of coming unpleasantness, a grim frown firmly in place. With one last longing look, she drops her head and takes in one gulping breath. Given her injuries, her next actions shouldn’t even be possible, but she’s still running high on adrenaline.

Before they know what is happening, Simmons has turned and bolted toward the path leading to the exit. She hears them calling after her and the sound of Bobbi’s long strides chasing her through the hallways, but the taller agent can’t outrun her this time. Bobbi is quick, but Simmons’s early morning runs have given her the advantage. Within minutes, Bobbi has lost sight of her. She stands helplessly in the hallway for a moment, agonizing over the many ways she has failed her younger colleague before racing back to the corridor.

* * *

 

“She’s gone,” Bobbi pants.  “She was headed toward the east exit, but I have no idea where she’ll go.”

“We have to go after her,” Fitz exclaims as he lurches toward the hallway. The pain of his injuries and the overwhelming stench of blood are starting to make him lightheaded.

“No,” May interjects. “We have to regroup first. We don’t have any idea how Simmons might react if we corner her now. We don’t want her to do any damage to us or to herself. It will be hard enough for her to come back after this without adding any more injuries to the mix.”

Unwilling to argue with May even when he is at his best, Fitz remains silent, but he isn’t happy with her decision. The longer Simmons is gone, the less likely they are to find her. Still, he concedes, they’ll have better luck if they have all of SHIELD’s resources at their disposal.

They resemble a solemn procession as they cautiously work back to the SUV. It’s a tight fit having seven of them in the vehicle, but they suffer through the discomfort in silence as they return to the SHIELD airfield. Bobbi does the best she can to treat their injuries. She wishes Simmons were there both because she would know exactly what to do and because her injuries were the worst of all.

By the time they return to the Playground, Simmons, having commandeered one of Hydra’s vehicles, is already halfway to the one place she hopes they won’t think to look for her. With spots dancing before her eyes, she prays to deities she doesn’t even believe in that she makes it there before exhaustion and her injuries finally overwhelm her.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. This was a hard one. Poor Simmons. She is about to lose her mind, well even more than she already has. This is what happens when people don't listen to her. 
> 
> This was a difficult chapter to write because of the need to let Simmons completely loose while still maintaining some of the key aspects of her character, like her drive to protect and fix whatever she perceives as wrong. Throughout most of the chapter, she attempts to shove her need for revenge out of the way and tries to focus on her team or the rest of the world. Her justifications still ring a little hollow because she is acting on her own behalf as much as theirs most of the time, but she does at least try not to make herself and her experiences the center of the conflict until the end when she can't help but focus on herself. 
> 
> I thought about glossing over the violence, and I did try not to make it overly detailed, but it felt like an important component of this chapter. I don't think her descent into madness would have been as believable without some of the gory bits. Feel free to disagree in the comments if you think it would have worked just as well without it. 
> 
> The remaining chapters will be an exploration of how Simmons deals with her actions in this chapter and herself in light of her newfound potential for devastation. The next chapter will focus on getting her back with the team and some initial explanations of why she went down the rabbit hole with Bakshi in the first place. There is more to her motives than she let on in the last chapter and some underlying, unresolved emotions to explore that I think are also present for canon-Simmons. 
> 
> I won't promise that the rest of the chapters will be all fluff and banter, though there will be some. There are still a lot of difficult conversations and soul searching that need to happen, so prepare yourself for some more angst, but I do promise not to leave Simmons in this state for long. Goodness knows I have already subjected her to some pretty terrible things already. 
> 
> As a side note, the lyrics Simmons mentions early in the chapter are from Christina Perri's song "Human", which was actually one of the inspirations for this entire fic. If you go look at all the lyrics, you'll see how apropos they are for Simmons. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	6. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team struggles to determine where Simmons may have gone or what to do if or when they find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will become apparent in this chapter that I’m not following the second half of season two very carefully. Suffice it to say, in this story, there is no second SHIELD and there hasn’t been any significant interaction with the Inhumans yet. Skye does go the Retreat (the cabin in the woods), but she is only there for a few days before she finds at least some sense of control over her powers and Coulson brings her back. I felt like this story was complicated enough without attempting to follow canon after episode 2.15. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this latest installment.

* * *

 

They enter the base without much fanfare, though Bobbi whisks Fitz, Mack, and Hunter off to the medical wing as soon as they reach the facility. She had done the best she could to stabilize their injuries on the Bus, but Fitz and Mack need more care than she feels comfortable providing. Once she is certain that they are in the best hands available and she passes a brief medical exam herself, she rejoins Skye, Coulson, and May, who had already begun discussing where Simmons might go and how best to confront her on the flight back.

Within minutes of joining their continued conversation, it becomes alarmingly clear to Bobbi that none of them have the faintest idea where Simmons might go now. The few options they have proposed have been dismissed rather quickly. Given her injuries, Simmons isn’t likely to go to any public place, which limits what they can do with facial recognition software and public cameras to find her. For the same reason, she isn’t likely to be on foot, which means that their possible search area could be huge depending on the method of transportation she chose. Their only advantage is that Simmons will need to go somewhere that provides access to more than just basic first aid materials to treat her injuries. That at least narrows the possible locations slightly. Still, they have very little to work with and they know it. Simmons could be almost anywhere, and they need to find her and get her back to the base as quickly as possible.

“She always used to seem so predictable, you know?” Skye comments with evident frustration after their conversation has continued for an hour without any promising developments. “Jemma used to be such a rule follower, and now it’s like I don’t even know who she is anymore! Before this mess with Hydra, there were like three options: she was in her room, in the lab, or with Fitz. Now, who the hell knows where she is?”

The others might be concerned with her outburst if it weren’t clear that Skye isn’t angry at their teammate. She, like the rest of them, is worried and frustrated by her own inability to fix the problem.

“If we want to have any chance of finding her, we need to think like Simmons,” May poses, “And there is only one person on this base who is capable of doing that.”

* * *

Hopped up on a delightful cocktail of pain medication, Fitz stares at the unexpected beauty of the cast encasing his arm. He remembers discussing Jake Evill’s idea for the Cortex cast with Simmons, but he never imagined that she had put time into actually perfecting the technology.

His left arm, which thankfully suffers from a bone bruise rather than a break, looks almost otherworldly in this open, honeycomb-like design, but he is more impressed with the functionality of the cast than its aesthetics. His bone is both supported and protected from further injury without the cumbersome and frankly unhygienic plaster cast usually used to treat such injuries. He’ll be able to go about his daily routine with very little trouble. How like her to create something both beautiful and functional.

Despite the pleasant effects of the medication, he’s still in pain, though it’s more emotional than physical. Ever since her unexpected departure at the lab, he’s been consumed with worry for Simmons. He wonders where she is now, how she is coping with her injuries, and if she’ll ever come back to them, to him. She’d been so defeated, so overwhelmed in those final moments, and he fears for her sanity and wellbeing. How is she supposed to come back from this? How is she to cope?

She’s always been the stronger of the two of them: better able to deal with stress, more capable of making the right decision in a difficult situation, better suited to working under pressure and getting along with anyone. He'd depended on that strength, maybe more than he should have. He’d never seen her really fail at anything. There were times that she was more or less successful, but until today he had never even considered the possibility that she could break, and break she had all because SHIELD hadn’t bothered to listen to her.

When Coulson, May, and Skye return to the medical wing with Bobbi, he’s tempted to let his temper loose on them. They had been the ones to drag Simmons into this mess. He can’t imagine that she had gone along willingly given her earlier protestations. When Skye tells him how Simmons had reacted before and after hearing the audio file, he lets go of some of that anger. They shouldn’t have involved her in this given her justified warnings against it, but ultimately she had been the one to make the decision to join the rescue team, though he feels guilty knowing his squawk of pain and the thought of him captured was probably at least part of the catalyst for her apparent change in attitude. They've always been rather protective of each other.

“Fitz, do you have any idea where she might have gone? We’ll take any lead at this point. We’ve got nothing,” Coulson reveals.

Fitz opens his mouth immediately to answer, but realizes just as quickly that he doesn’t know. He has never envisioned a scenario like this: one of them without the other and without SHIELD. He’s always taken it for granted that they’d either be together or be separated but within the realm of SHIELD, and now he feels even less qualified to speak on what she might or might not do given their strained relationship since she returned from Hydra.

“Sir, honestly? I don’t have a damn clue. She could be anywhere. She’s clever enough to go or get whatever she might need without leaving a trace behind her,” he reluctantly admits.

“Fitz, you’ve got to have something,” Skye counters, “You know her better than anyone else. What does she do when she’s upset?”

 _She comes to me_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. Until recently, she had always come to him just as he had always gone to her, albeit a bit more reluctantly given his averseness to admitting he has feelings much less sharing them. Now, however, he’s given her no reason to want to come to him. He’s been standoffish if not openly rude to her since her return from Hydra, and in this moment he wonders how many times she didn’t seek him out even when she needed him in the past months in deference to his apparent aversion to her.

Most recently, he’d been hurt to learn that she hadn’t shared anything about her training at Hydra or her obvious turmoil over it with him, but he has to face the reality that he hadn’t given her any reason to do so considering his behavior toward her. Now, her life may very well be at risk if he can’t discover where she has gone and soon, and he has nothing to offer for her rescue. Feeling powerless and defeated, he closes his eyes and clenches his hands, though he immediately regrets the action as a flash of pain shoots down his arm.

“I don’t, Skye,” he finally answers after a tense minute of silence. “I don’t have any idea where she might be, but we have to find her. Simmons belongs here,” he ends with conviction. No matter what it takes, no matter how long, he’ll make sure that they find her. She’s already had to endure too much alone.

* * *

After two days of constant soul searching, he finally latches on to an idea that ultimately leads them to her. He’s considered everything he knows, or at least thinks he knows, about her: her preferences, her habits, her nervous ticks, and anything else that might shed some light on where she might go. At times, he feels like he is trying to grab smoke, and he questions how well he has ever actually known her the longer he considers just how easily she hid so much from him.

As the hours drag on and turn into days, he becomes more agitated and disheartened, and his worst fears begin to overpower the hope he has tried to keep alive for her sake. The longer she is gone, the lower their chances of finding her.

It is in one of those moments of almost debilitating uncertainty that he remembers the most important thing he knows about Jemma Simmons: ultimately, she is a protector. For as long as he’s known her and regardless of whatever else he has learned about her, that one facet of her personality had been not only a constant but the central and defining feature.

Early in their friendship, she reveled to him that she had entered the world of science in order to make discoveries that would ultimately advance technologies, treatments, and procedures to benefit humanity. She wanted desperately to make a difference in the lives of everyday people. Her contributions as an agent of SHIELD had revolutionized some fields and made significant improvements to others. The cast on his arm is testament to that.

More than her work, in the years they’ve been partners, he’s witnessed or benefited from her protective instincts on a daily basis. Sometimes, her actions are as simple as reminding him of lab safety protocols to ensure that he or one of their many technicians don’t unwittingly cause themselves harm. Other times, she directly intervenes in a situation to protect people, like she had with the dendrotoxin grenade on the train or when she hacked SHIELD’s systems to help orchestrate the extraction plan for him and Ward.

As he continues musing over her principal drive in life, he realizes that they’ve been approaching their search from quite possibly the most unhelpful and misleading perspective. For the last 48 hours, they have been operating under the assumption that she will go wherever she is the most protected from them. The reality, given what they know and what he is fairly certain she thinks of herself, is that she will go wherever they are the most protected from her. She won’t be worried about herself; she’ll be worried about them, which makes it all the more crucial that they find her immediately.

With a sudden moment of clarity, he latches onto their first real lead since her disappearance. Rushing through the base, he calls Coulson’s name so he can share his latest discovery. He nearly runs the director over in his efforts.

“Sir,” he begins breathlessly, “I think I might know where she went. We were looking at it all wrong, you see. I should have realized sooner. We’ve all been assuming that she’ll go wherever is best for her.”

The rest of the team, having heard the commotion Fitz made running through the hallways, follow the racket and find the engineer and director on their way back to his office. Fitz is speaking faster than they’ve heard in months, and he only struggles with words on a few occasions. By the time they reach Coulson’s office, Fitz has yet to actually name Simmons’s supposed location for all his babbling.

“So where is she, Fitz?” Skye finally interrupts, eager to know the location so they can get on with bringing Simmons home.

She’s more than a little confused when Fitz turns to her with a small smile and says, “You of all people should know, Skye. You and Simmons are more alike than I realized. What was the first thing you worried about when we discovered your powers?”

Skye stares at him blankly for a moment before responding, “I was worried about hurting people, but what does that have to do with Sim…….” She trails off as Fitz’s intimations register. “Oh! God she’s good. I never would have even considered that.”

“Enough,” May interjects. They’ve already lost two days, and she’s unwilling to lose any more time. She knows all too well what time to dwell can do to someone in Simmons’s situation. “Where is she, Fitz?”

“Right under our noses. I’d bet anything that she’s at the cabin where Coulson took Skye,” he states confidently. It’s so obvious to him now he wonders why it took him so long to think of it.

“The Retreat?” Coulson questions with clear disbelief. “Fitz, that is one of if not the most secure SHIELD facility in existence. Only a handful of people, namely Fury, Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers, and myself, can access it. Even if Simmons could find it and attempted to get passed the security features, we would have received an alert. Not to mention, if she is trying to hide from us, why would she try to do it in a SHEILD facility?”

“Don’t you see, sir? She’s probably hoping that we’ll dismiss it for exactly those reasons. She’s not hiding because she doesn’t trust us; she’s hiding because she doesn’t trust herself. She’s trying to protect us, and where better to do that in the one SHEILD facility specifically designed by Dr. Banner for just that purpose?” Fitz offers excitedly.

“I’m still not convinced, Fitz. How would she know the location? I certainly didn’t reveal it when I took Skye or brought her back,” Coulson counters.

“Do you remember when we were trying to save Skye after Quinn shot her?” Fitz begins. “I called in a favor to gain access to the archival records at the Triskelion so we could find out more about your procedures and GH-325. I don’t know for sure, but wouldn’t it be possible that she saw enough about The Retreat while we were looking through the administrative data and purchase orders to find it? With her eidetic memory, she could easily remember that information even now.”

Coulson puzzles over this information for a moment before responding, “I suppose it is possible, and it’s certainly close enough to Pittsburg for her to consider it an option if she knows that it’s there, but that still doesn’t mean she could gain access to the facility without us knowing.”

“Couldn’t she, though?” Bobbi interrupts this time. “Clearly, even though we knew she was a genius, we’ve severely underestimated just how smart and adaptable she is. It’s not inconceivable that she could have learned enough about hacking by working with Skye over the last few years to get through the firewalls and other security features.”

Seeing that Fitz’s idea has taken hold and without any other promising leads to follow, Coulson directs Skye to check the sensors of The Retreat for any anomalies. Almost as soon as she begins searching, she finds what she’s looking for.

“Well done, Simmons!” she praises under her breath before addressing the rest of the team. “She doesn’t get any points for style. What she’s done is crude but effective and way more advanced than what I thought she knew how to do. If I hadn’t been looking carefully, I wouldn’t have noticed the trail she left.”

Turning slightly to address Coulson, she adds, “I know she accessed the facility in the last 48 hours, but we'll only be able to confirm that she’s still there if I reboot the biometric scanners.”

“Do it,” Coulson orders.

It takes a few minutes for Skye to undo what Simmons has done to the system and to get the bio systems back online. As she works, the rest of them wait uneasily, Fitz most of all. If she isn’t there, they will be back to square one again without much of anything to help them continue the search. Just when the tension begins to reach an unbearable level, the first readings display on the screen.

Bobbi begins interpreting them as soon as they are visible: “Preliminary scans indicate the presence of one person in the cabin. Based on the tissue densities and the estimated height I’m seeing here, I’d say with about 90 percent certainty that it’s Simmons. I'll be 100 percent certain once all the scanners are back online, and I can run a cross check of the results with her medical file here.”

The collective sigh of relief is clearly audible. They’ve found her, and now it’s just a matter of bringing her back to the base, but that is apparently easier said than done.

* * *

Several hours later, they are still arguing about who will be on the extraction team, specifically who will enter the cabin to confront Simmons. Bobbi argues vehemently that it should be her. She’s the only one with enough combat and medical training to both subdue Simmons if necessary and treat her wounds. Skye argues against Bobbi, claiming that Simmons’s memories of Bobbi are also wrapped up with her time at Hydra and that might make her go on the defensive.”

“I’m fine with you being on the jet, but either May or I should be the one to get her out of the cabin. Simmons has known us longer, and she’ll be more likely to trust us,” Skye claims.

“By that logic,” Hunter butts in, “we should send in Fitz since he’s known her longer than anyone in this base, but that’s clearly absurd. He'd be powerless against her.”

“No it isn’t,” Fitz protests. He’s been trying to maintain his temper as this argument has continued on without end, but he’s at the end of his rope. They’re all acting as if it is a known fact that Simmons will be a danger to them once they arrive, and he’s sickened by the assumption.

“I _should_ go,” he continues. “Simmons has known me the longest, and she knows that I’m the least combat ready of all of us. I pose the least threat, not that any of that actually matters,” he mumbles the last bit under his breath, though Coulson hears him anyway.

“Of course it matters, Fitz,” Coulson chides. “Agent Simmons clearly isn’t herself, and we need someone in that cabin who can subdue her if necessary.”

“Exactly my point, sir. We need someone with combat training if and only if she shows any sign of hurting us. She might be dangerous, but she isn’t a threat, at least not the kind of threat you all seem to assume she will be,” Fitz rebukes in return.

“You can all come for all I care if that will make you feel better, but I’m going to be the one who goes in after her. I promise to call for back up if I need it, which I won’t by the way. Simmons wouldn’t ever hurt me or any of you for that matter, and you know it, so can we quit twiddling our thumbs and go get her now?” he rants, exasperated with the lot of them.

Chagrined as they realize he has a valid point, they agree with his plan and spend the next hour gathering necessary supplies. There is no telling what kind of shape she’ll be in when they arrive or what medical intervention she might need. They all work in companionable silence until the subject of protection comes under discussion.

“Have you lost your bleeding minds? I’m not walking in there with an ICER. She’s not going to hurt me, and the last thing she probably needs to see right now is a weapon considering how we got into this mess in the first place,” Fitz rants at May and Coulson, who continues to hold out the gun to the younger agent.

“Fine, but I want you on coms at all times. Is that understood, Agent Fitz?” Coulson returns. He realizes that Fitz won’t budge on this issue, and he’s also reluctant to spend any more time arguing about it when they could be in transit to The Retreat. The rest of the team will be armed with ICERs, and that will be more than sufficient should they need to subdue Simmons.

Nodding his head, Fitz shoulders the one item that he is willing to take with him. The daypack may not look like much, but it contains everything he thinks he might need. The first item he packed was the basic SHEILD field medical kit. He hopes he won’t need it, but if his memory of her injuries is even partially accurate, there are probably a few that she can’t treat even if she has taken the time to address the others.

Consideration of her wounds also prompts him to pack several changes of clothing for her. It had been strange entering her room without an invitation and stranger still to paw through her clothing for the items he knew to be her favorites. The situation only became truly bizarre when he remembered that she was likely to need new undergarments as well. Fighting the blush that tried valiantly to paint his cheeks a vibrant scarlet, he rifled through her drawers with as much care as he could manage. He took far less time to gather clothing for himself, which he only did on the chance that she wouldn’t want to leave immediately.

Given that possibility, he also raided the kitchen and their personal stashes for her favorite foods. She has a terribly tendency to forgo food when upset, and he’s concerned that she won’t eat whatever provisions might be available at The Retreat even if she is hungry. If using her favorite foods is the only way to coax her to eat, he’s not above doing it. In addition to Maltesers and Double Deckers, he loads the bag with digestive biscuits, some prawn cocktail and roast chicken crisps, a box of her favorite tea, and a small pot of orange marmalade. Something in that mix is bound to entice her. At least, that is what he hopes will happen.

He tries to spend the few hours of the flight thinking of something worthwhile to say to her in the wake of such a disaster, but he comes up with nothing. Everything he considers sounds trite or as if he’s rehearsed it. He isn’t even sure what state he will find her in when they do arrive. All he can do now is wait and worry.

* * *

May sets the Quinjet down about two miles from the perimeter of the facility, keeping it in stealth mode all the while to avoid alerting Simmons. Leaving Mack to guard the plane, the rest of the team follow Coulson and Skye toward the panel that will disable the laser fence. With that task complete, they continue through the trees until the cabin comes into view. Without sparing his teammates a second glance, Fitz strides toward the door. Shaking their heads at his actions, May, Coulson, Skye, Bobbi, and Hunter fan out around the building, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice if necessary.

Although Fitz advances on the door with confident steps, he enters the cabin slowly. Simmons won’t hurt him, not willingly, but he can no longer operate under the delusion that she can't be dangerous given the right incentive. Her actions at Hydra Labs have proven that to be an unquestionable fact. But her horror when she broke free of her apparent haze also helped him to see that she is still the Simmons he knows and loves at her core despite these latest changes and revelations.

Not wanting to surprise her, he calls out her name as soon as he begins to open the door. In between rejecting ideas of what to say to her, he’d taken the time to familiarize himself with the layout of the cabin on the flight in order to know in advance where she might have tucked herself away.

As soon as he closes the door, he knows his teammates standing guard around the cabin will be particularly frustrated with this decision since it places one more barrier between him and them should he need their help. He’ll take their frustration any day if it means he can preserve what little privacy she will have now. Given Coulson’s demand of the live coms, he can only do so much. Setting his bag down in the entryway, he begins his search.

Looking around the room, he misses her at first. Just when he thinks that maybe they’ve given her enough time to flee since they took so long finding her and making their way to The Retreat, he notices the heel of her boot protruding from the small alcove left between the far side of the cabin and the shelves lining the wall.

“Jemma,” he calls softly, immediately worried when she doesn’t respond or move in any way.

His heart hammers in his chest at the thought that he might be too late. In the split second it takes him to sprint across the room, he tries to think back to her injuries. He hadn’t noticed anything immediately life threatening, but he also hadn’t been particularly clear-headed at the time due to the pain of his own wounds and the shock of seeing her. Maybe her injuries had been worse than they realized. Maybe this is a different kind of recovery mission altogether. He feels sick to his stomach.

His dread only lessens slightly when he meets her vacant but at least not lifeless eyes. She’s alive and breathing, but he isn’t sure that there is much else to celebrate. She’s so curled in on herself that he can’t see much of her body, but what he does see is ghastly.

The blood matting her hair would be grisly enough on its own, but it’s her least shocking feature at the moment. Both of her unfocused eyes are ringed with dark bruises, no doubt the result of some Hydra agent’s punch. The gash on her forehead has long since ceased bleeding, but the evidence of its severity runs down her face in dark, rusty rivers, matching the dried blood smeared across her lips and chin. The few segments of her face that aren’t covered in blood are a patchwork of dirt smears and mottled bruises. Her hands, the only other skin he can see, don’t fare any better. In fact, he’s certain that at least one of her fingers must be broken.

Crouching down to her level, he holds out his hand to her, hoping desperately that she’ll remove herself willingly from the nook. He doesn’t want to involve their teammates in this. They’re too on edge to think clearly, and Simmons has been exposed to enough over the last several days. She doesn’t need their anxiety to add to her own. He’s determined that she should be able to have at least some control over who sees her next and when. It clear that she isn’t in any state to answer whatever questions they might have or undergo a debriefing. In fact, given the circumstances, if she wants to stay hidden away in this cabin for weeks more, he’ll gladly stay if she doesn’t mind his company.

“Jemma?” he calls her name again. When she continues staring vacantly over his left shoulder, his anxiety increases tenfold. He has scarcely allowed himself to consider the possibility that her actions at Hydra Labs may have thrown her into a complete and possibly irrevocable mental breakdown. He can’t handle the thought that she is lost in her own mind, unable or unwilling to come back.

“Jemma,” he repeats, a little louder this time as he reaches closer but still doesn’t touch her.

He really wants this to be her decision. He doesn’t want to force her into anything. SHIELD and Hydra have done enough damage to her by forcing her to make decisions she never should have had to make. He doesn’t want to contribute to it. When she still fails to react in any way, he can’t help the tearful and slightly frantic ‘please’ that falls from his mouth.

* * *

Whether it’s the continued attempts to get her attention or the emotion of his last plea, something finally breaks through to her. He watches intently as her eyes finally focus on him and flash in recognition and surprise.

“Fitz?” she croaks, in complete disbelief that he of all people has both been looking for her and found her. She expected that SHIELD, especially her former partner, would be ecstatic that she has willingly incarcerated herself here, but she is shocked that they have found her so quickly. She had thought it would take them at least a week if not more time to consider this location.

Sure that she would have longer before their eventual arrival, she has done little more over the last few days than sit curled in this corner attempting to try to make sense of the wreckage of her life. She has only left it to tend to her most basic needs, and even that she has done only halfheartedly. Allowing herself any kind of comfort seems laughable considering the monster she’s become. She is convinced that she doesn’t deserve any of the creature comforts this cabin might afford.

Her desolation and self-hatred are all consuming, and she’s had nothing but time to build a wall with those toxic emotions to separate her past with what must now be her future. She’s been trying and failing for months to pretend that she hasn’t changed, but in the face of her wonton violence against the Hydra agents, she has finally had to admit to herself that she will never be the optimistic, cheerful scientist she was before Hydra came to light. That person might as well be dead for all intents and purposes.

Surprisingly, she has yet to shed a tear for all that she believes she has lost: her innocence, her career, her friends, and, most importantly, Fitz. She refuses to permit herself that kind of emotional release; monsters don’t deserve to lament what they’ve lost. She made her choices, and the only logical and just thing now is for her to live with the consequences.

His blinding smile at the sound of her voice finally breaks her out of her shoddily constructed emotional prison. The first sob catches them both by surprise. He watches in horror as her face crumples under the weight of her emotions. She is so overwhelmed with the sudden onslaught that she can’t even process exactly what she is feeling. Sorrow, regret, loathing, fear, anxiety, and despair swirl together, but she is used to that particular cocktail at this point. What ultimately disarms and confuses her are the unexpected, tiny seeds of relief and hope that his smile inspires in her.

If Fitz—who has seen her at her absolute worst, who has been injured more times than she cares to count because of her poor decisions, who has made his disappointment in her in recent months clear on more than one occasion— if he can find something to smile about at the sight of her bloodied, bruised, and hiding in the corner of a far flung safe house, maybe she’s not as far gone as she thought. Maybe she can still redeem herself in the end.

Despite the newfound, fledgling hope that she may be able to salvage something from her former life, the knowledge of what she has done to reach this point outweighs any positive emotions his appearance initially causes. He notices immediately when her sobs take on a desperate and uncontrollable edge. The pain, anger, frustration, and fear she has kept bottled up inside her since their almost demise rush forth and she’s powerless to stem the tide.

Unwilling to remain crouched a mere foot from her while she weeps in earnest as if her world is crashing down upon her, Fitz finally grabs hold of her forearm, praying that he isn’t putting pressure on an injury he can’t see. He pulls her gently but firmly out of the alcove and into his arms. He feels her stiffen at first, but after a moment she goes nearly boneless in his hold. She still doesn’t think she deserves his comfort, but she needs it all the same. Through all of it, their near death, his slow recovery, her undercover work and training, and the past few weeks, this is what she has needed most of all and now that she has it, she can’t bring herself to give it up.

He’s not normally one to issue meaningless platitudes, but he can’t help but shush her quietly and promise her that it’ll all be okay as she clings to him and soaks his shirt with her tears. That her body continues to shake even as her sobs finally quiet concerns him greatly. It’s clear that she’s made no effort to take care of herself more than was necessary to keep her alive. His concern about infection and improperly healing injuries increases exponentially when he hears her pained huff of breath as she twists in his arms in an attempt to find a more comfortable position.

Leaning back to get a better look at her, he notices that her tears have cleared her face of some of the blood, most of which is now on his shirt. Now that she’s out of the alcove, he can also see that she’s covered in cuts from the Hydra agents’ weapons. He needs to treat her injuries, and she needs to get out of her cat suit. He can only imagine what kind of damage being forced to continue wearing it for so long has done to her, especially considering her apparent revulsion for it after she rescued them from Hydra’s attempted kidnapping.

Thinking back to that day, he’s ashamed of the words he said and the way he treated her. He’d been so concerned with maintaining his narrow view of how the world should be and where she fit in it that he hadn’t given a second thought to what he said or what she might need. He’d been combative and distrustful, and while he had some cause for the second, there was no need for the first. The only part of that day that is still a mystery to him is her actions just before Bakshi had ordered her to kill them. He still doesn’t understand that kiss or anything else that happened in those fleeting minutes, but that is a conversation for a different time.

Shifting carefully, he returns to his crouched position and reaches out to her: “Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

They can both hear the forced levity in his voice, but neither is prepared for the heavier emotions and discussions they need to have. At the moment, his only concern is her health. She is too drained from her emotional outpouring, the pain of her injuries, and blood loss to protest as he carefully helps her to her feet.

He doesn’t miss her wince or her gasping breaths. It’s clear to him that she’s in agonizing pain but trying to hide it. He’s as gentle as he can be as he leads her to the small bathroom. When he’s sure that she is settled on lid of the toilet, he returns to the entrance for his bag since they are both in desperate need of the clothing he’s brought.

After he slings it on his shoulder, he speaks softly into his coms: “Sir, she’s clearly not a threat, and I think she’d appreciate some privacy right now. I’ll check in once she’s cleaned up and ready to handle more people.”

He doesn’t wait to see if Coulson will respond before he removes the earpiece and places it on the table closest to the door. Coulson and the rest of their team, still in shock from hearing Simmons’s apparent breakdown and subsequent sounds of pain, don’t respond anyway. Only one person in the group has any understanding of what Simmons is likely feeling at the moment, and while she will speak with her to help her come to terms with it, now is not the time. At this moment, Simmons is in the best hands she can be, and that is all they can ask or offer.

* * *

When Fitz returns to the bathroom, he notes that she hasn’t moved an inch. She’s resumed staring listlessly at the wall, and it’s not lost to him that the only word she has spoken is his name and even that only the one time. Trying to keep calm, he wets a washcloth and begins tenderly wiping the blood and grime from her face. The amount of time and rinsing it takes him to complete the task is alarming, and her face doesn’t even look markedly better when he’s done. She’s covered in too many bruises. Still, she looks less ghastly than she had when he found her tucked in the corner, and he’ll take these small victories as they come.

No matter how careful he’s being, he still presses to hard or strokes with too much force several times. She manages to keep her pain locked away from him, terrified that he’ll stop if she makes too much noise. It’s been so long since she had someone to care for her that she can’t imagine how she’ll cope when it ends.

Breaking the complete but comfortable silence between them he asks delicately, “Do you need help? Or would you rather do this bit on your own?” as he gestures to the shower.

Out of nowhere, the need to prove herself to him surges through her, and she forces herself to stand on wobbly legs. She has him almost convinced that she’ll be okay when she takes one steady step toward the shower, but the startled cry of pain she emits when she reaches back quickly to begin peeling herself out of the suit has him rushing toward her again.

Her sudden bravado had caused her to forget momentarily the effects of the rescue mission, namely her nearly dislocated shoulder and severely bruised ribs. She’s nearly certain that they aren’t broken, though she won’t know for sure until she can undergo an x-ray. While they are certainly painful, she isn’t experiencing any of the symptoms of a perforated lung or particular difficulty breathing, so it’s much more likely that she’s bruised them rather than broken them.

She’d been able to remove the suit by herself the few times she had needed to use the bathroom over the last few days, but she had been careful to take her time to avoid aggravating her injuries anymore than necessary. She’d only kept the suit on in an act of self-punishment. She knew that there was likely clothing or something that could be used as such within the cabin, but since arriving she hadn’t felt the need or right to seek it out. Wearing the torn and bloodied suit acts as a constant reminder of what she has done and who she has become.

After crying out in pain, frustrated tears form in her eyes almost instantly, and she looks down at the floor as her now clean cheeks flush with shame. At this point, she’s not even sure what she’s ashamed of. Being weak? Needing his help? Not taking the time to see to her injuries? Running away from her problems? Her actions at the lab? The possibilities are endless, but he doesn’t give her much time to think about them.

Cupping her chin gently, he turns her face back to him, his eyes shining with tears as well. He hates to see her in pain, and he hates that she’s in this situation. He knows that one of the reasons she even joined the rescue team was for him, but it isn’t guilt that drives his actions now. He’s always had a need to comfort and care for her, and he hasn’t been in a position, either due to his injuries or unrelenting stubbornness and mistrust, to do so for months. She needs him now—that much is clear—and he’s determined to do whatever he can for her.

“Let me help,” he beseeches quietly. He almost misses her tiny nod of agreement, but it’s there, so he carries on.

Reaching into the bag, he extracts the medical kit and rummages through it until he finds the surgical scissors. Based on her movements, it’s obvious that she’s in no condition to lift her arms or bend enough to remove the garment in the normal fashion. It takes every bit of emotional strength he has not to become violently ill as more and more of her bruised and injured body is revealed. He wonders how she is still conscious with so many injuries.

The minutes drag on, but his persistence finally pays off and he throws the tattered remains of the suit in the corner of the bathroom. Later, once she’s clean, tended to, and rested, he’ll propose that they burn the offending item. For now, he lets it rest in a heap and doesn’t spare it a second glance and he returns his full focus to her.

Faced with the next step, he breathes deeply as he considers the options she has. If she asks him to go, he’ll do it without question. If she wants him to stay, it will shatter the few boundaries that remain between them and force them to confront a level of intimacy they’ve never even flirted with before now.

“May, Bobbi, and Skye are just outside. Would you rather have one of them instead of me?” he poses, assuming that she might be more comfortable if a woman helps her through this next part.

She considers what he’s asking and offering. It would make the most sense to have a woman help her in the shower, and she apparently has three from which to choose. May will be dispassionately clinical, which may be what Simmons deserves in this moment, but she doesn’t think she can handle it now. She needs a little more humanity now that she’s teetering on the edge of control.

Skye would completely understand walking that fine line between keeping it together and falling to pieces. She’s probably the most empathetic person Simmons knows, but that empathy is just one of the reasons she discounts Skye almost immediately. The younger agent won’t react well to seeing her in this condition, and Simmons isn’t sure that she will be able to keep her guilt hidden if forced to interact with Skye while she’s this vulnerable. She has so many apologies to make to her friend and colleague, but she isn’t in any shape to make them now.

Bobbi is the logical choice. She will be reserved when she needs to be and comforting when that is called for instead. She’ll read Simmons’s moods and feelings as easily as if they were her own, and she’ll adapt seamlessly in the moment. Moreover, Bobbi also has the most medical training of the three, which makes her ideal. Still, for all the advantages of having Bobbi in here with her, Simmons can’t separate Bobbi from Hydra, and just the thought of the organization increases her trembling.

With the three women securely out of the running, the only option she has left is Fitz. She should shy away from him at this moment, away from what the pending situation will mean for them, but she can’t. Fitz is Dr. Who marathons and warm cups of tea. He is biscuits for dinner and long hours in the lab. He is beaming smiles and excited chatter. Fitz is home, and all Simmons wants most in this moment is to be home. She huddles closer to him, hoping he’ll understand her choice.

He does, and without further hesitation he strips off his own soiled garments, leaving them both in their underwear for the sake of modesty and propriety.

* * *

Despite their lack of clothing, there is nothing at all sexual about this situation. With his mind firmly on caring for her, his body doesn’t even react to the sight of her nearly naked form or her proximity. She needs to be clean, and while a bath might allow him to remain clothed, he would rather not have her sitting in the fouled water as he tries to clean her wounds. The shower will be quicker and more sanitary.

She comes to the same conclusions, but she can’t help her blush as he stands before her in only his boxers. In a time and place not too long ago that seem almost foreign to her now, she’d allowed herself to daydream about a situation in many ways similar to but also markedly different from this one. Unable to meet his gaze, she presses her overheated cheek to his shoulder and reaches down to grab his hand.

His presence has always grounded her, and she needs that now as much as she ever has. She wishes she were strong enough to do this own her own. She wishes he didn’t have to bear witness to the effects of her training or see just how far she’s fallen. But he’s here, and she isn’t strong enough to do this herself, so she’ll place herself willingly into his hands. He may not realize it, but this is a huge step for her. The last time she submitted to someone else’s handling of her body was during her training at Hydra, and they all know how well that turned out.

Saddened by her inability to meet his gaze, he pulls her as close as he dares to offer what comfort he can. The only sound in the room is their quiet, even breaths. She’s still trembling, and he knows that they need to get her clean before she no longer has the strength to stand. Squeezing her gently one last time, he steps just far enough away to turn on the water and adjust the temperature to lukewarm. Her body won’t take well to extremes at the moment, so it’s important to keep her core temperature as steady as possible.

Once he is satisfied with the water, he steps into the alcove, offering his other hand to help her maintain her balance as she joins him. She hisses faintly as the water hits her bruised and bloodied back. He frowns at the sound, offering a quiet apology for her pain. He knows that this likely won’t be the most pleasant experience for her, but it has to be done and he’ll do his best to limit the inevitable pain and discomfort.

He lets go of her just long enough to adjust the showerhead to accommodate her shorter stature, and then he gently pushes her back so that the water runs over her matted hair. Rivulets of pinkish water run down her neck as the blood washes free from her hair. Tentatively, he begins to run his hands through her tangled strands, ever mindful that she may have hidden injuries here as well. She keeps her eyes downcast all the while, staring at the smooth skin of his torso for as long as she dares.

His fingers move in soothing circles along her scalp. When he’s satisfied that most of the blood is gone he reaches back into the built-in shelving to squeeze a dollop of shampoo into his palm. He works up a lather before hesitantly returning his hands to her hair. At first, she continues to enjoy his gentle ministrations, but before long one trail of suds begins to make its way down her back and legs. When its runs over one of her deeper gashes, the wound begins to tingle before settling into a harsh, burning sensation. The unexpected pain prompts her to tense and whimper, and before he can think better of it, he pulls her close once more, settling her head into the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I know it hurts. I know. But we have to get you clean. It’ll all be over soon. I swear. I’ll try to be more careful.”

Bemused by his continued apologies, she stands motionless for a moment before nestling closer into the shelter of his arms. He’s warm and solid in a way that few things have been in her world recently, and in the face of his kindness and consideration she finds the strength to stand a little steadier and straighter.

Pulling back from his embrace, she reaches forward to wipe a streak of suds from his check. She’s not ready to speak yet, but she hopes her eyes convey how grateful and relieved she is to have him here. Understanding her silent message, he returns to lathering her hair. She still tenses each time the soap burns through her wounds, but the shock of the burning lessens each time. He rinses the shampoo out as carefully as he can, and she feels marginally better now that her hair is clean.

Their time in the shower has also helped to wash away some of the dried blood covering the rest of her body, and he discovers that at least a few of her wounds aren’t nearly as bad as they had initially looked. Still, many of the others are cause for concern, especially as some of the larger ones resume bleeding now that the congealed blood is no longer present.

Beginning with her arms, he uses his hands to smooth the mild soap over her skin. She has too many cuts and abrasions for him to even think about using a washcloth. He is particularly gentle when he works on her hands. One of her fingers is broken, and she has abrasions on both palms. Working as quickly and efficiently as he can, he continues his meticulous routine across her back and stomach, making sure to be especially sensitive when running his hands over the deep purple bruises that make him consider the possibility of broken ribs as well.

Her legs show the most damage, and the worst cut stretches from the top of her left thigh down to her knee. She’s lucky that the depth of the wound is rather shallow. Any deeper and she would have had severe muscle damage. As it stands, she would probably end up with a large scar if not for the SHIELD treatments at their disposal.

Determined to be thorough, he kneels at her feet, reaching up to place her hands on his shoulders so that she can keep her wavering balance. He gives each foot equal attention, being mindful to wash between every toe. He’s been scolded about his own apparently woefully inadequate sense of foot hygiene enough times to make an educated guess about her preferred level of cleanliness.

* * *

Once he finishes with her feet and legs, he knows that he can’t avoid what needs to happen next, no matter how uncomfortable it may make the both of them. He clears his throat a few times before broaching the subject.

“Jem. We’re nearly done, but we need to get you out of the rest of your things. Do you think you can manage?” he offers her an easy way out. He will completely understand if she would rather him leave for this part.

She’s embarrassed as her cheeks flush and eyes brim with tears when she understands what he means. He’s right. Her bra and panties will be soiled, and she needs to wash away any lingering blood and dirt from these areas as well, but she’s so tired and sore that she knows she can’t manage on her own. Still the thought of him having to touch her there after everything she’s been through and everything he’s witnessed makes her breath hitch.

Seeing the misery on her face, he reaches out to tuck a lose strand of hair behind her ear before speaking: “Hey, now. It’s all right. There’s no need to be embarrassed. It’ll be kind of like that time in Chem lab at the Academy, yeah? Remember when we spilled that solution and had to share the one working emergency shower? We'll do it just like we did then. You turn ‘round, and I’ll close my eyes before helping you out of your things, okay?”

What a day that had been, he muses. They’d been working together on a new solution meant to inhibit bacterial growth when anything and everything had gone wrong. Whether due to a chemical reaction, the beaker overheating, or the tampering of some of their classmates, which happened more often that it should have, they found themselves covered in shards of glass and chemicals. Staring wide-eyed at each other for only the briefest of moments, their safety training kicked in almost immediately, and they ran to the twin emergency showers in the back of the lab. Unfortunately for them, the left shower was out of order, so they both had to huddle under the remaining one as they removed their clothes in a flurry of movement and knocking limbs. Having only been friends for about a year at that point, they’d blushed throughout the process, but the shared experience and embarrassment of having to stand there naked while their instructor cleared the lab and brought them some scrubs had firmly cemented their friendship.

Soothed by his gentle tone as much as his words and the memory, she nods before hesitantly turning around. Before he begins unhooking the catches of her bra, he hands her a washcloth and the bar of soap so that she can begin working up a lather. Sucking in a steadying breath, he reaches forward to the clasps. Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined stripping Simmons of her underwear in a shower. While he isn’t thankful that she’s injured, he is grateful that his concern for her keeps certain parts of his anatomy from taking any interest in what he is about to do.

Closing his eyes as promised as soon as he has unhooked her bra, he skims his hands gently down her sides to the band of her panties. Hooking his thumbs in the fabric, he pulls them down until gravity takes over and they land with an audible splat on the floor of the shower. He uses the tile wall to steady himself as he rises back to standing, mindful not to sway into her personal space now that she is completely exposed.

She trusts him implicitly, but she can’t help but peak shyly over her shoulder to make sure his eyes are closed. His expression is studiously blank, and his dark eyelashes fan out across his cheeks, the tiny droplets of water clinging to them shining like precious gems. Satisfied that he is doing exactly as he promised, she sets to work. Cleaning her breasts is surprisingly easy given her injuries, but as soon as she shifts to begin cleaning her buttocks and vulva, her injuries flare and begin to throb. Starting to lose her balance, she can’t keep the groan of pain and frustration contained.

“Jem?” Fitz asks a hundred questions just by saying her name. She doesn’t respond verbally, but she does reach back to grab his slightly outstretched arm, settling his hand on her bare hip. Understanding immediately what she needs, he places his other hand on the opposite hip to steady her. She returns to her final tasks, working with more speed and less care that she normally would in light of the desperate need she has for this part of her day to be over. If this lasts much longer, she doesn’t know that she’ll ever be able to look him in the eye again. Maybe she should have asked for one of her female colleagues after all, but they’re too far in for her to waste time regretting her decision now.

Stepping forward to stand back under the spray, she rinses the front of her body before turning in his hold to rinse the back. The water is beginning to lose what little heat it had to begin with, and she starts to shiver.

“All done, then?” he asks quietly as she trembles in his hold. She nods her head again before remembering that he won’t be able to see it. Humming her assent, she steps forward slightly, mindful of their bare chests, so that she is no longer directly under the water.

“Stay right here,” he instructs as he finds one of her hands and places it on the wall to help support her. He then steps quickly from the alcove to grab one of the oversized towels hanging from the bar. Closing his eyes again, he opens the curtain and holds the towel open for her. She has to grab onto his arms as she steps over the slight lip, but soon she is swaddled in the fluffy cotton.

Once he is sure that she’s covered from chest to knee, he opens his eyes to find her staring at the floor again. He knows that this last half hour has been trying for her in more ways than one, but he hopes that she’ll be able to cope with a bit more before he tries to get her to eat and sleep.

Steering her back to sit on the toilet, he motions for her to stay as he jumps back into the shower to hastily wash up himself. After a scant minute of quick soaping and rinsing, he reaches out to grab the other towel before wrapping it securely around his waist and joining her by the sink.

“I’m going to go get dressed, alright?” he tells her before grabbing his spare clothing from the bag. “I brought some things for you as well. Why don’t you look while I’m gone and see what you might want to wear?”

As soon as he shuts the door, she gingerly leans over to rifle through the bag. Initially she wonders if he picked out the items himself or if he had Skye or Bobbi do it instead. Once she sees what he’s packed, she knows that he must have been the one to gather her clothing.

Firstly, none of the bras and panties he had chosen match. She is sure Skye and Bobbi would have seen to it that her undergarments actually went together. Fitz had apparently just decided to choose whichever options were the least lacy, which suits her just fine right now. Secondly, neither Skye nor Bobbi could have chosen this conglomeration of clothing. Fitz had packed exactly the outfits that she would find most comfortable and comforting right now, including the shirt she’d nicked from him during one of their first movie nights. It is too big for both of them, but she has never found another shirt more comfortable than this one, and she can’t help the moisture brimming in her eyes as she runs her hands over the now nearly threadbare cotton. Pulling out the shirt and the shorts she prefers to wear with it, she sets about trying to dress herself. She has only limited success by the time he returns.

* * *

He takes a little longer than is strictly necessary to towel off and get dressed, but he knows that she probably needs a few minutes to herself now. Padding softly back down the hall, he calls her name as he knocks on the door.

“Jemma? Is it alright if I come back in?” Hearing a muffled hum of agreement, he slowly opens the door to reveal her bare back. In the time since he left, she’s found a way to pull on her panties, but she clearly couldn’t manage the bra clutched in her hand.

“Need some help?” he asks needlessly. It’s clear that she’ll need his help to get it on, but he wants to give her a choice whenever he can. If she says no, he’ll respect that decision, even if it means that he may have to struggle a bit to tend to her wounds.

He’s grateful when she nods in response to his question. Even though her underwear doesn’t cover much, she’s not really anymore exposed than she would be in a bathing suit, and they’ve been to the beach together enough times that they are both used to at least that level of exposure.

As she clutches the towel to her bare chest, he runs the straps of the bra up one arm and then the other before moving to stand behind her once more. “I’ll close my eyes again,” he promises while touching her hand lightly, “just let me know when you’re ready for me to get the back.”

It takes her a moment to release the towel to the floor. This whole situation is beyond bizarre and she’s struggling to find her footing within it. He’s been so kind and attentive despite the fury and disgust on his face at the lab. She isn’t sure what to make of his apparently completely changed feelings in regard to her.

Once the towel drops, she struggles to position the bra where it needs to be, but she does finally succeed. As she holds the cups in place by crossing her arms, she makes a small sound to indicate that she’s ready for his help. She isn’t sure why she still feels the need to avoid speaking, but she isn’t ready to question or confront that reluctance until she has to.

Cracking his eyes open just in case he imagined the sound, he sees that she is ready. With quick, easy movements, he slots the hooks into the eyes and adjusts the straps so that they lay flat down her shoulder blades rather than in twists. Placing his hand on her uninjured shoulder, he squeezes briefly before speaking.

“I’m going to dry your hair, and then we need to see about sorting out those injuries, okay?”

Gingerly, she sits back down on the closed lid of the toilet as he picks up her towel. Seeing that it has a few pinkish stains from the wounds that have reopened, he chooses to use his towel instead. With careful strokes, he rubs as much moisture from her hair as he can. Once he’s satisfied that the remaining water won’t drip down her back, he gently combs his fingers through her hair to remove any snarls. They both find the action soothing.

When it’s clear that he is finished, she turns back toward him, not sure where he’ll want to begin. He’s not sure either. Triage is her specialty, not his, but he’ll do the best he can. Based on his assessment, her most pressing injuries are the possibly broken ribs and the gash on her thigh. He knows better than to wrap her ribs based on the end of a rant he’d heard as she tended to Bobbi after a mission. All he can do at this point is apply some of the arnica cream in the medical kit to help with the bruising. Considering she was the one to create this particular formula, he’s confident that it will help.

As for the gash, he doesn’t trust his hands enough to even contemplate stitches, but he does think he can manage to treat it with ointment and a wrap. She’ll need more advanced medical care than he can provide, but anything he does will be an improvement on the state in which he found her. His top priority at this point is to make sure that they ward off any infection. It’s a miracle none of her wounds are infected as it is.

With the same meticulousness and methodical approach, he addresses each of her wounds and injuries, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. He isn’t willing to leave anything to chance. By the time he finishes, she resembles something akin to a mummy. After he helps her into the clothing she’s chosen, she looks as though she’s ready for one of their many movie nights at the Academy and Sci-Ops, other than the bandages and gauze, of course.

The last area in need of attention is her hands. He can’t do much for her broken finger except immobilize it by taping it to another. Without an X-ray, he has no way of knowing if her bones need to be re-aligned, and he’s not willing to try to feel for their position given how much pain that will cause her. Fortunately, the scrapes look much better now that they’ve been cleaned, though the bruising is rather severe. He’s thankful for the arnica, but he’ll also insist on some icing later once she’s eaten.

He’s about to repack the medical kit when she stills his hands. It worries him that she still hasn’t spoken, but he understands her questions based on her gestures and looks. Clearly, her first concern is his arm. She runs her less injured hand over the Cortex cast, marveling at how well it has stabilized his injury.

“It’s not broken. Just a nasty bone bruise,” he answers her unspoken question. She frowns in response. Bone bruises are a serious enough injury in their own right, as she well knows, and she’s appalled that it has taken her this long to make sure he’s been looked after properly. That should have been her first response after seeing him.

Unaware of her self-castigation, he watches as she silently catalogs his now-healing injuries. When she notices the bruising across his temple and cheek, she reaches for the arnica, wincing as the movement makes her ribs flare in pain. She wonders how many times she will do that before she learns not to move that way. Heedless of her own pain, she gently rubs the cream into his skin, careful not to press too hard. When her hand begins to shake too much to continue, she lets it fall back to her lap.

The dark bruises marring her skin make her overall pallor even more noticeable. He’s certain that her paleness is a combination of pain, blood loss, and lack of sufficient food. He can’t do much about the blood loss, but he can help take the edge off the pain if she is willing to eat something. When his stomach rumbles, he has the perfect excuse to hustle her to the kitchen.

“Frankly, I’m famished. I don’t suppose you’d like to join me for some tea and toast?” he asks quietly as he leads her back down the hallway.

* * *

She sits motionless at the table, but her eyes follow him as he pulls package after package out of his bag and bustles around the kitchen preparing their tea and snacks. When he presses the warm mug in her hands, it feels like a balm on her very soul. It smells perfect, and she knows it will taste perfect too. As soon as she takes her first small sip, she feels the warmth of the liquid chase away some of the icy dread that had settled into her bones when she learned he had been taken.

The smorgasbord he lays in front of her is rather untraditional, but it’s clear that he assembled these items with her in mind, and she finds that both entirely endearing and utterly confusing. She keeps waiting for him to lash out at her for her actions at the lab. She’s used to weathering his disapproval, and his lack of condemnation since entering the cabin has her feeling particularly uneasy.

He settles across from her, sipping his cup of tea, enjoying the warmth though this isn’t his favorite blend. He keeps waiting for her to speak, but nary a sound escapes her lips. The longer she remains silent, the more he worries. Something has been brewing in her head, maybe for months, and whatever it is won’t be pleasant when she finally verbalizes it. There are so many things that they need to discuss, and he hasn’t a clue as to where to begin, but he tries all the same.

“Jemma,” he begins hesitantly. “Talk to me. Please? Help me understand.”

She hears his pleas and understands the range of what he is really asking with those simple words. He wants to know it all: what happened after he pressed the button in the pod, why she left, how she survived Bahski and his program, what she’s been feeling in the months since, how she is coping with this latest experience, and anything and everything else she’s kept from him or he’s refused to see.

She opens her mouth several times, but the words never come. She’s mute in the face of all she needs to reveal, and reluctant to pull him down this path with her when she finally can find her voice again.

When she manages to meet and hold his stare longer than a few seconds, he starts to see a hint of what she has been so careful to keep hidden all these months. The uncertainty and anger clearly evident in her eyes make him swallow reflexively. He has no idea what to do in the face of such raw and overwhelming emotion, and he finally understands that neither does she, and maybe that has been the heart of the problem all along. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. I never meant to take this long between updates, so I appreciate you sticking with me despite how long it’s taken me to write this chapter. I hope the length will partially make up for the long wait. 
> 
> Part of the reason I struggled is that Fitz and Simmons are at such a crucial crossroads here, and it was difficult for me to make that come alive in a coherent chapter since both characters are struggling through their own inner battles in addition to their issues with each other. There will be much more content on those conflicts and issues in the next chapter, but for now I wanted to explore how they would react when one of them is in desperate need of the other. Had Fitz not been in a coma for nine days, I imagine that Jemma would have been just as tender and careful with him. Maybe she was in the weeks we didn’t see between his return to consciousness and her departure to Hydra. Anyway, despite his confusion over her new abilities and his lingering hurt over her apparent abandonment of him, I think Fitz would be able to put all of that aside to help her. He’s still in love with her, and he wants nothing more than to take away her pain. 
> 
> The other challenge of this chapter was Simmons’s silence. I don’t believe that she would be ready to speak during these events. She’s too caught up in self-recrimination and doubt, and in my mind she is afraid that she’ll break the moment if she speaks. Everything has taken on a dreamlike quality for her in this chapter because of her pain and the disbelief that Fitz is there and caring for her. 
> 
> I hope you’ve all enjoyed this latest chapter. Please let me know if anything comes across as strange or ill fitting based on the rest of the story. I hope to have the next chapter out in a few weeks, but I need to work on Retrograde as well so be looking for an update for that story if you are a follower.
> 
> Thank you again for taking the time to read my work. I really appreciate it.


	7. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma offers some long-overdue explanations, but the aftermath may be more than she and the team can handle.

While he battles with what to do next, she remains frozen at the table, as if time has somehow stopped only for her. Bandaged and swaddled in her favorite clothing as she sips listlessly on a cup of warm tea, it certainly feels like she is in some sort of alternate reality. Despite everything that has happened and what he has witnessed, Fitz is here and looking at her as if the last year hasn’t happened, as if he is finally ready to listen to what she’s needed to tell him for months, as if they can just go back to how they were before it all, as if he hasn’t spent the last year taking his frustrations out on her, and as if she hasn’t been letting him because she can’t seem to do anything else.

The rage that has been her constant companion for more than a year is so overwhelming in this moment that she nearly chokes on it. No matter his intentions, what right does he have to sit there now after everything and ask her that question when he refused to listen when she needed him to most, she wonders. Curling her uninjured hand into a fist, she fights against those feelings. She shouldn’t be mad at him, she reminds herself. He’s been much more of a victim in all of this than she has. Everything that has happened to her is a result of her choices. She’s only gotten what she deserves for embarking on this path in the first place. This is what happens when you let arrogance and conceit cloud your judgment, she thinks.

Staring straight into his guileless cerulean eyes, she begins to snicker at the absurdity of this whole situation. He watches in morbid fascination as the anger overtakes her entire form. She’s almost vibrating from its intensity. What begins as almost breathless chuckles quickly morphs into barks of unhinged laughter. Standing abruptly, she paces back and forth as she finally lets lose the torrent of feelings and frustrations she’s kept bottled away.

“Understand?” she spits the word as if it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. “Are you sure? I’ll warn you now, Fitz. You won’t like what you’re going to hear. This story doesn’t have a happy ending.”

Having grown accustomed to her silence and sluggishness in the last few hours, her sudden and intense anger frightens him, but it’s the fear that he sees behind her anger that encourages him to stand strong in the face of her rage. He had accused her of being scared once before, but he’s only now realizing how right he was, at least in some ways.

“I need to understand whether I like it or not, so start wherever you need to and keep going until you’re done. I’ll listen,” he promises.

For the last year, he’s viewed most of her words as either hollow placations or deliberate misdirections, refusing to really listen to what she’s been trying to say. He wonders how much of this could have been avoided if he’d be willing to listen sooner. He can’t change the past, no matter how much he might wish to, but he can hold true to his promise now. She deserves no less from him. Whatever burden she’s been carrying, he wants to share it. She’s carried it alone too long.

She takes his easy agreement in stride, sure that he’ll be too appalled by what she reveals to make it through the whole sordid tale. Riding the turbulent waves of her anger, she allows her words to spew from her mouth and spares no effort to try to curb their brutal honesty. She’s waited months for this moment, and now that it has arrived she won’t waste it.

“I think I finally understand Dr. Banner,” she begins. “Do you know what I felt most sitting at your bedside while you were in a coma?”

Understanding that this is a rhetorical question, Fitz remains silent, though he finds the bit about Dr. Banner to be more of a non sequitur than anything else. Still, he’s curious to hear what she is about to say, and hopeful that it will make her abandonment of him make more sense. He understands so little about anything that has happened to her since he pushed the button to blow out the pod’s window. If nothing else, he hopes to gain some kind of understanding for her motivations and strange behavior. She’s become a foreign entity to him, and he wishes he hadn’t let them grow so far apart.

Months ago she wouldn’t have had the courage to admit what she’s about to share, but in this moment she feels certain that she truly has nothing left to lose. He isn’t hers anymore. He hasn’t been for quite some time, and whatever else she might have done, whomever else she might have been, is now lost. Regardless of what she tells him, her future will not change. She’s made her bed and now she has to lie in it.

“More than desperation, more than regret, more than grief even, two emotions overshadowed everything else I was feeling in those days as I stared at your nearly lifeless body: helplessness and anger. As you fought for your life, I sat there wallowing in impotent rage. I wanted so much to lash out at anyone, anything, but what could I do? Nothing. All I could do was sit there and run through everything I could have done differently, every misstep I had taken that led us to that point.”

“When you finally woke up, I thought I would be able to help you recover. Surely, I thought, given the potential of my brain, I could design some new treatment or procedure to alleviate the effects of the hypoxia.”

He’s saddened that she would place such a burden on herself, though it doesn’t surprise him given their relationship. Had he been in her place, he would have been designing machines left and right if he thought it might help her. Still, his recovery or lack thereof wasn’t her responsibility. She wasn’t a medical doctor, though they forced her to act like one more often than not. What does surprise him is her apparently continued regret as she continues talking.

“I want you to know that I tried everything I could think of,” she admits in a rush, desperation overshadowing her anger for at least a moment. “I scoured the literature, I ran simulation after simulation, I tried every non invasive approach I could, sure that something would help you, but nothing did. Every time you would make some progress, I would do something that would force you to take one step back.”

“Maybe I could have found something if I had let go of my anger. But, I couldn’t seem to do it. Like Dr. Banner, I found that I was constantly angry, and over time my anger just grew and grew until I couldn’t remember how it felt not to have rage rushing through my system at all times.”

He can see evidence now of what that rage has cost her. She looks so frail and fragile, as if one wrong word or one misstep will send her careening into oblivion. She’s gaunt and almost translucent in her paleness, the mottled bruises peaking out from under her clothing and bandages adding another layer to her almost other worldly appearance. She paces restlessly as she talks, as if her emotions need a physical form as much as a verbal one. He wonders how she can find the energy for such movement given what she’s been through.

“I was so angry with myself, with Ward, and with Hydra, and so helpless to do anything other than watch you struggle and feel like half of yourself,” she divulges. “For all that my mind can do, it couldn’t help you. What use was it? What use was I? I just kept making you worse. I failed you so spectacularly and in so many ways that I just couldn’t keep doing it anymore: watching you get your hopes up over some small accomplishment only to have them dashed the very next day when your recovery backslid again because my treatments were ineffective, because I wasn’t any good for you. So, I decided to leave.”

* * *

In all his wildest imaginations, this was not the explanation Fitz expected to hear when Jemma finally told him why she left. He had always assumed that she couldn’t stand to see him as such a shadow of his former self. That she was frustrated with him for his slow and uneven progress. He never imagined that she left because she felt like she had failed him. It was absurd.

“You didn’t fail me, Jemma. How could you even think that? You just said that you tried everything you could think of. No one can ask for more than that,” he interrupts her before she launches into her next part of her tale.

“Oh, but I did fail you, Fitz, more than words can describe, and you deserved better, so much better than what little I gave you. I wish I could tell you that my leaving was a purely selfless act, but it wasn’t. I did it for myself as much if not more than I did it for you. I was so caught up in my feelings of helplessness and anger that I jumped at the opportunity Coulson presented when he asked me to go undercover at Hydra. I saw my position as a convenient means to an end. Coulson needed information, and I wanted Hydra to pay. I didn’t even stop to think about how you would feel when you found out I had lied.”

He can understand all the rest, especially the feelings of weakness and rage, but her lies are the sticking point for him. They’d always been almost brutally honest with each other since beginning their partnership and friendship nearly a decade ago. Frankness was a necessity when working on projects that could possibly injure or kill them during the design phase and potentially save lives once implemented. They both quickly came to understand that honesty would help them work more efficiently and effectively, and that understanding quickly bled over into their friendship, which sometimes led to bruised egos but always ended up bringing them closer together in the end.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have understood, maybe better then than at any other point, why you wanted to go. God knows I would have loved to have joined you if I could have,” he blurts out, his lingering frustration and hurt apparent.

He wants so much to be able to put his feelings aside for the sake of hers, but his frustration is as potent now as it was when he first learned where she had really gone. He can’t help but remember those months that he hallucinated her as a coping mechanism for her apparent abandonment. Regardless, he regrets his phrasing almost immediately when he sees her wince. She clearly has been beating herself up over this, and he’s only adding fuel to the fire of her self-castigation.

“I didn’t want to corrupt you with that same impotent rage. You were already suffering from Ward’s actions and my own. What right did I have to add more to your burden when it was my selfishness that put you in the situation in the first place? I asked you to join Coulson’s team. I decided we should go look for the Bus. I refused to honor your sacrifice.”

“Do you know what the worst part of it all is, Fitz?” she looks so unbearably sad and shamefaced that he’s afraid of what she is about to admit.

“Even after all of this, knowing how you’ve suffered, how you still struggle some days, I wouldn’t do it any differently,” she confesses quietly. “If it happened all over again, I would still drag you through 90 feet of water knowing that you’d end up with brain damage and would struggle to find your sense of self-worth again because I am too selfish to live without you. Don’t you see, Fitz? I’m not a good person. I’m selfish and vindictive and merciless. Since I couldn’t help you, I decided to punish the people who had hurt you,” _myself included_ , she adds in her head. “I wanted them to pay for everything they had done to you.”

He feels nauseated at the thought that she has subjected herself to the horror of her life for the last year all because of him. Everything she’s said so far comes back to him. He’d been so sure that she had found some fault in him that he never for a moment considered that she thought the fault was in herself, that she might see his injuries and slow recovery as evidence that she had failed him. All he can see in this moment is how much he failed her. He had every reason to be bitter and frustrated with his sluggish recovery, but he was never upset with her. He never felt like she wasn’t giving her all. In fact, some of the treatments and exercises she designed were what helped him recover in her absence.

But had he ever told her that? Had he ever thanked her for saving his life? Had he ever told her how much it meant to him that she refused to follow his final plan? Had he ever conveyed to her how brave and wonderful and incredible he thought she was for staring down the very real probability of her own death on the very slight chance that she might be able to prevent his? Had he ever tried to consider how she might have felt in the wake of such an experience? No. He had focused solely on himself. He knows that her actions are still ultimately her responsibility, but he can see now, perhaps for the first time, how his inaction and subsequent petulance had led her to this path and then continued feeding her feelings of blame and inadequacy. He was so insensitive to her plight that she had to shatter before he realized she was broken.

* * *

Strings of apologies and desperate pleas for forgiveness are on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t have a chance to voice them. She continues to carry on, clearly oblivious to his recent revelations. At the beginning of this confession, she expected the words to help her feel like she is freeing herself from some of her past, but every word that leaves her mouth feels like another link added to the chains that bind her to a reality and fate she never wanted. Still, she owes him an explanation, so she won’t stop even as she feels like she is drowning in the truth.

“I was so arrogant when I left, Fitz, so sure that I could bring down Hydra from the inside, despite my complete inability to lie convincingly. I marched through those doors the first day convinced in my eventual success, so sure that my intelligence would be more than they could handle. I was right in some respects, but so wrong in others. I should have known better. I should have known that the temptation would be too great if I put myself in that kind of environment. But I let my rage blind me to the consequences of playing that game with Bakshi. And my fury only increased once I realized what he was doing to the other agents and what he planned for me.”

“Insufferable man! What right did he have to play god?” she rants, before quieting. “But, was I really any better? I jumped right into his game, using my anger and selfishness to justify my actions. I could have decided to disappoint Bakshi and show only aptitude for mental training. He still would have found that valuable. But I didn’t want to feel helpless anymore. I threw myself recklessly into the physical training because I never wanted to feel powerless again. There were so many moments that I thought I would break. So many times that Bakshi or the men he had training me nearly pushed me beyond where I thought I could go, and that was what made me realize that the only real limitations on my potential were the ones I consented to put on it years ago.”

The phrasing of her last confession makes him want to pause to tease out some truth she isn’t sharing here, but it’s evident she feels that truth isn’t worth mentioning as she continues on without pause.

“I can’t explain what that revelation did to me, Fitz. It was only then that I began to understand what true, absolute fear is. My brilliant plan backfired, you see. I didn’t feel stronger or more in control, not in anyway that really mattered at least. I was terrified of myself, and I felt even more isolated, vulnerable, and helpless than ever before because I knew at that point that I had become a slave to my anger. I wanted nothing more than to pretend I had never embarked on such a foolish mission. But the damage was already done, and the worst part of it was that I inflicted it on myself willingly. I followed Bakshi down that corrupted path, so sure that I would come out the victor in the end. But I didn’t, Fitz. I became exactly what he wanted me to be: a mindless killing machine.”

* * *

Throughout this latest outpouring of her apparent sins, he can only sit in stunned silence. He has no words for her. He is sure anything he says will sound hollow and insincere. What could he possibly say to her in the face of what she has revealed? What could possibly comfort her when she has suffered and sacrificed so much?

“The day my cover was blown I started to realize how much of mistake I had made. I wanted nothing more than to pretend that I had never given into my anger and followed Bakshi into the madness, but I wasn’t willing to give up our trump card just yet. I made sure to play my part perfectly when Bobbi broke her cover to help me so that Bakshi would think his experiment had been a success, but I was selfish enough to hope that you all would never find out what I had done. I wanted so much for everything to go back to normal when I returned, but you know as well as I do that it didn’t.”

Fitz’s guilt only increases after that last statement. All she had wanted when she returned was to find herself again, but he’d done nothing but push her away and reject every attempt she made to rekindle their friendship, which was probably what she was counting on most to help her heal from what she perceived as her fall from grace. He’s not entirely to blame, he knows, but he feels terrible for exacerbating what was clearly an already arduous experience for her. And yet, she has yet to blame him for his role in her obvious suffering. He keeps waiting for her to direct her anger at him. She would be completely justified in doing so. He’d jumped to conclusions at the slightest provocation and refused to see the truth even when it was staring at him from her tear-filled eyes.

Pressing on in spite of the distress this is causing her, she admits, “I spent those next few months trying desperately to bury my ceaseless anger and to hide the reflexes I had developed. I felt like an imposter, and just when I started to believe I was beginning to succeed, San Juan happened. I started to lose control of the anger again after realizing how Trip died. If I hadn’t tried so hard to bury my training, maybe I could have helped him and maybe he would still be alive. If I had paid more attention at Hydra Laboratories to my work instead of my determination to beat Bakshi at his own game, maybe I would have understood better what happened to Skye and how to help her. Left with all those maybes and might-haves and my rekindled anger, it was all I could do to keep going.”

“And then we were captured,” Fitz breathes into the tense air between them. He can’t begin to fathom what that day must have cost her given everything she’s revealed. She had willingly returned to Bakshi’s game in an attempt to save them all, knowing what it would do to her and how they would likely react once they found out what she’d done.”

“And then we were captured,” she agrees while grimacing, her tone humorless. “What could I do but sink back into the training I had tried so hard to forget? I freely admit I enjoyed seeing Bakshi get what he deserved, but even that didn’t lessen my anger. If anything, it grew stronger because he forced me to show all of you what I had become. I dreaded how you all would react when you realized how many mistakes I had made because of my arrogance, but you took it all in stride, which left me feeling more uncertain than ever before. I kept waiting for all of you to understand what I already knew: I’m a monster.”

Her frown turns bitter and reeks of self-hatred: “And a few days ago, you finally did.” She finally meets his gaze again, and he has to fight the temptation to look away in the face of her clear agony. “I wasn’t oblivious to the repulsion on May’s, Coulson’s, and Skye’s faces or the shock on yours, Bobbi’s, Mack’s, and Hunter’s. I didn’t miss when you stepped back from me in horror after I finished off the last Hydra operatives. You had every reason to fear me and be sickened by my actions. I had succumbed to the fit of rage that had been seething inside me like a malevolent firestorm for more than a year. In less than a two hours, I killed more than two dozen people in cold blood, and I enjoyed it, Fitz. I enjoyed watching the light leave their eyes because I knew what they had done and what they could do if they continued to live. I played god, and here we are.”

* * *

With haunted eyes, she turns from him and walks purposefully to the mirror in the front room, staring at her bruised and battered face. He hesitates only briefly before following her. That this is a critical moment is not lost on him. He has no idea what to say but stands just behind her, hoping that his presence will communicate what he can’t verbalize. He’s here. He understands what she’s done and why, and he doesn’t fear her.

She can see his image in the mirror, but when she resumes talking she speaks to her reflection rather than to his. The rest of the team, having only heard only bits and pieces of their previous conversation, can finally hear them both without issue now that they are standing mere feet from Fitz’s still active com though neither Fitz nor Simmons remember it is there.

“In the end, even after all that wanton violence, all that death and destruction, even after getting everything I thought I wanted, rescuing my teammates, revenge for you, I can still feel that anger seething inside of me. If killing two dozen people isn’t enough to give me a sense of closure, what will be enough, Fitz? Four dozen? Eight? Thousands? Millions? Where will it end? Will it ever end?” her utter despair on her last question pains him more than he can say.

Staring at her reflection, he realizes that the emotion plaguing her isn’t anger, at least not in the way she thinks. It’s complete and unreserved self-hatred. This whole time she’s believed that she is somehow at fault for every horrible thing that has befallen him and their team. She has convinced herself that she is ultimately responsible for their health and happiness because she is gifted in ways that none of them knew about until recently. She continues to carry that anger and to feel no sense of closure because she hasn’t forgiven herself, and if she continues down this path he knows with absolute certainty that she won’t ever forgive herself. She’ll run herself into the ground, still believing that she is at fault while doing everything she can to keep them safe, regardless of what it costs her.

It’s exactly as he thought: at her core, Jemma is a protector, but he never imagined that it would manifest itself in this way. Having listened to her impassioned confession, he feels that he finally understands the impetus for her actions, but he needs for her to understand it too or she won’t ever be able to move on and resume her life. Carefully, so as not to startle her, he places his hand on her uninjured shoulder before speaking: “There’s one piece to this convoluted puzzle that you seem to be missing, Jemma. Why didn’t you want to feel helpless again?”

“Because being helpless made me angry,” she retorts shortly, frustrated that he seems to think she doesn’t even know her own mind. Why is he still trying to see the good in her even now when it’s so painfully obvious that she’s bad? Why can’t he accept what she knows to be the truth?

“No, Jem. That’s not the whole of it. What was so important that you decided to willingly ignore your moral compass and go along with Bakshi’s plan?”

He thinks she’s going to ignore the question, and she wants to, but the words spill from her mouth despite her wishes. She’s too used to telling the truth now to stop, even when she wants to: “Weren’t you listening? I failed you, Fitz! And I was going to keep failing you and everyone else if I didn’t do something. I had to do it to protect you, all of you. If not me, Hydra would have found some other agent to brainwash like 33 and we wouldn't be able to do anything about it or we'd have to be suspicious of everyone. It was the only way I could see to keep you all safe.”

She’s nearly hysterical by the end of it. The fear she’s felt about losing him since she realized his intention to sacrifice his life for hers at the bottom of the ocean resurface with almost violent intensity. She feels crushed under the weight of her emotions.

“Exactly,” Fitz confirms, pleased that she is still in possession of enough untainted self-awareness to see the foundational motivation for her actions. “Your first instinct is to protect. But, Jemma, who is keeping you safe?"

“Monsters don’t deserve to be protected, Fitz, and that’s all I can ever be.” She’s resigned to her fate and wishes he could learn to accept it as well.

“That’s not true,” he protests immediately.

“Just go, Fitz,” she orders wearily, her voice breaking. Verbalizing her descent into madness has left her feeling raw and exposed, especially in light of his earlier tenderness and care and apparent continued belief in her inherent goodness. She can’t be around him now. Unlike before when his presence gave her some small sense of hope, now it only reminds her of what she’s lost, though she doesn’t regret what she’s done or who she’s become if it means she can keep him safe.

“No, I’m not leaving you here. That’s ridiculous!” he shouts, more disturbed now by her resignation than he has been by anything else she’s admitted. He doesn’t realize that he’s just parroted the words she said to him at the bottom of the ocean, but she does, and it pushes her over the final edge.

“Go! Can’t you see that I don’t want you here anymore? I don’t want your pity, and I certainly don’t deserve it,” she screams, finally so frustrated that she can’t hold it in anymore.

His grip on her tightens, and she reaches up to throw his hand forcefully from her body. “Don’t touch me, Fitz. I swear….” Her threat trails off menacingly as she refocuses on her reflection.

As he watches the self-loathing contort her face into a terrifying snarl, he realizes her intention a split second before she rams her fist into the mirror. “Jemma, no!” he screams, powerless to stop her.

* * *

Privy only to the words and not the actions, the rest of the team assumes the worst when they hear the shattering of glass. Within seconds they burst through the door, weapons drawn and aimed at Jemma.

As soon as she perceives a threat, her first reaction is to push Fitz several feet behind her and grab the biggest shard of glass she can find, heedless of the fact that it gouges deeply into her palm or of the pain from the shards embedded in her knuckles and fingers. She quickly surveys the room, trying to find the threat that caused her teammates to rush to their aid.

Only seconds later does she realize that they’ve come to protect Fitz and she is the supposed threat. That they honestly believe she would harm him hurts her deeply and breaks the final piece of her that had somehow managed to remain whole throughout all of the past year. _At least they finally realize I am a threat_ , she muses brokenly, _but never to them, never to him._

She hears none of the ensuing argument as the sound of blood rushing through her ears drowns out even their loudest words. She collapses bonelessly into the pile of shattered glass on the floor. The sudden physical and emotional pain sends her already compromised system into shock.

Too far to catch her, Fitz struggles to pull her trembling form out of the glass before it can do any more damage to her already ravaged body, ranting all the while.

“What the hell!? Did you listen to nothing I said? I told you she wasn’t a threat and that seeing weapons was the last thing she needed. Look at her,” he demands, gesturing to her clearly traumatized body as he manipulates her shaking limbs into the recovery position, “Does she really look like she’s in any shape to hurt me even if she intended to?! You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

And ashamed they certainly are. Covered in gauze, bruises, and now freshly bleeding wounds, it’s clear that Simmons, no matter her training, isn’t in any shape to use it.

“Fitz, we’re sorr…” Skye begins to apologize before Fitz cuts her off heatedly.

“Save it for some one who cares,” he snarls. He’s disgusted with the lot of them, including himself, for not doing anything to help her sooner. How much pain and suffering could they have spared her if they had devoted a little more attention to her wellbeing? His self-castigation is cut short as Jemma begins to seize, the shock too much for her abused system to handle.

“Shit!” he mutters. “Don’t do this to me, Jemma. Don’t you dare!”

Dropping her gun without any hesitation, Bobbi rushes to her teammate’s side, barking orders at Hunter and Mack all the while: “Mack, bring the quinjet as close to the cabin as you can get it. We’re going to need to haul ass back to the base. Hunter, as soon as he lands, get the gurney and meet us back here. We’ve got to get her stabilized.”

When May wordlessly begins handing her supplies from the field medical kit she had brought along, Bobbi doesn’t hesitate to use them. “Skye!” she snaps at the younger agent frozen in fear at the sight of Jemma’s convulsing form, “Get over here and hold this. Don’t squeeze the bag; just keep it vertical and try not to jostle the line.”

Taking her roll as a human IV stand seriously, Skye stands motionless, afraid that even the smallest micro-movement will cause Simmons irreparable harm. In hindsight, Bobbi realizes that giving Skye, who has just learned some semblance of control over her power to cause seismic vibrations, such a task was probably not the best idea, but at the moment, she needs every set of hands at her disposal.

It feels like hours pass, but it really only takes minutes for Mack to move the jet and Hunter to return with the gurney. With Coulson and May’s help, Bobbi transfers Simmons to the gurney and restrains her still trembling limbs. She can’t do anything more until she can hook Simmons up to the monitoring equipment on the jet.

* * *

Normally, May wouldn’t trust anyone but herself to sprint them back to base in record time, but when Simmons codes halfway through their flight she immediately relinquishes the controls to Mack, who seamlessly continues their breakneck journey. Her knowledge of medical treatments is limited, but any knowledge is better than none, which is what the rest of the team other than Bobbi has.

“Don’t do this to us, Simmons,” May threatens menacingly before placing the resuscitation mask over Simmons’s face and beginning to force air into the woman’s motionless lungs. At the same time, Bobbi rucks up Simmons’s threadbare t-shirt in preparation for using the defibrillator. She doesn’t even have time to waste finding the medical shears to cut it from her body. As long as it’s out of her way, she doesn’t care.

“Clear,” she calls loudly as the paddles reach the necessary charge. Jemma’s body jolts on the gurney from the shock, but the EKG continues to wail shrilly. “Shit, shit, shit,” Bobbi repeats with increasingly intense vexation as she prepares to deliver a second shock.

All the while, Fitz stands motionless just a few feet from Jemma’s head. _I hoped I would never feel like this again_ , he thinks as he watches the life drain from her body, _this is how she felt after she pulled me out of the pod_. At least with the Chitauri virus, he still had some hope even when she jumped from the Bus since he had a working anti-serum. Now, watching May and Bobbi struggle to revive her, he can understand how fear and anger and helplessness could drive her to such extremes. He feels like his soul is being torn apart, as if the light in the world is fading and will end with her, as if all that he is and could be will cease to exist if she does.

The second shock does nothing. Neither does the third. Fitz wonders if he will ever be able to hear anything other than the monotone wail of the heart monitor ever again. Unable to help himself, he moves closer. If these are her last moments, he won’t allow the words they’ve left unspoken to remain so any longer.

Completely oblivious to the tears running down his face or the utter heartache his words bring to his teammates, he speaks softly to her, careful not to get too close and interrupt May and Bobbi’s frantic but ineffective efforts.

“I love you, Jemma. I think I probably always have, and I know I always will. It wasn’t your fault. Not the pod, not my slow recovery, not Trip, not Skye, not any of it. It wasn’t your fault! Do you hear me? You did everything possible and even some things that should be impossible. You kept us safe.”

He can barely get out the next few sentences over the anguish that floods his body: “I’m sorry for pushing you away. For not seeing you were broken, too. If you have to go now, if you’re tired of fighting, I’ll understand,” he sobs. “I don’t know how I will survive without you, but I’ll understand. We asked too much and you gave everything you had.”

He sucks in a deep breath and manages to press a soft kiss to her hair as Bobbi charges the panels again. He speaks his final words so softly only May can hear him: “But if you have anything left, please don’t let go. Please don’t leave. I love you. Please come back.”

Bobbi presses the paddles to Simmons’s battered flesh one last time. If this doesn’t work, she isn’t sure what they’ll do. Any sane person would have called it and recorded the time of death by now, but she can’t give up on Simmons and it seems May can’t either.

Simmons’s body jolts, more weakly than any time before, and the monitor continues to wail. Tears blurring her vision, Bobbi turns back to the defibrillator, unable to stare at the lifeless form of her teammate. After all that she’s done, they’ve failed her again.

* * *

Just as Bobbi’s tears begin to fall, the piercing monotone breaks once, and then once more, settling into a disturbingly slow but steady rhythm. Turning back, she dashes the moisture from her eyes in time to see Simmons take in a shallow breath without any help from May. Despite all the odds, Simmons has fought her way back from the brink of death.

Fitz, overcome with relief, drops to his knees and presses his forehead against the crown of Jemma’s hair. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he murmurs repeatedly, as tears pour from his bloodshot eyes.

Determined to keep Simmons alive, May blinks back her tears and continues monitoring her vitals. They only have to keep her stable for about twenty more minutes, and then they’ll be back at the base with all the equipment and medication they need within easy reach. With a clear mission at hand, she loses herself in the task, hoping her concentration will make it easier to ignore the constricting sensation in her chest. When had she let go of her past and become so attached to this motley crew?

It’s clear from the watery eyes of the rest of the team that losing Simmons would have been a blow none of them could have withstood. They know she’s not out of the woods yet, but her apparent will to live gives them back some of the hope they had lost. Just as she had fought for them, they will fight for her. Silently, they all just hope that they aren’t too late.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this chapter to be a bit longer, but in all honesty that last scene nearly did me in. I was fighting back tears as I worked through Fitz’s dialog. 
> 
> While we aren’t done with angst quite yet in this story, I think I can safely say that the worst of it is now behind us. The rest of the story focuses on how Jemma begins to heal and find herself again with the help of all her teammates. But I wanted them to be there to witness the result of her actions and their inattention toward her needs and suffering from their reunion after Fury rescues her and Fitz to this point of the story. The needed to understand the true toll the totality of the experience has had on her. 
> 
> In the next chapter, as Jemma starts the slow process of recovery, we’ll get a little more of the backstory, including more information about the mysterious document Coulson references in a few of the initial chapters. There are still a few details about Jemma’s mental abilities that haven’t been addressed yet. 
> 
> Again, thank you for sticking with me. I hope you’ve been enjoying this fic so far and will journey with me to the end.


	8. Confront

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to help Simmons heal, Coulson calls in a long-held favor, but even with all hands on deck, they’re only just beginning to scratch the surface of the damage she has suffered and will have to overcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we won’t see too much of Jemma (she is suffering from fairly substantial injuries after all), but we do see some new characters and how they fit into the larger story. This chapter also explains little more of the backstory, though there are still some pieces to come in future chapters. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

As soon as the jet lands, Bobbi wastes no time whisking Jemma away to the medical bay. She rushes down the corridors of the base, shouting orders to every person she passes regardless of their normal assignments and specialties. No one so much as hesitates for a moment to complete whatever tasks they are assigned. Bobbi and what they have of a medical team spend the next several hours ensuring that Simmons is stabilized as much as possible as they begin the arduous task of determining and then treating her most serious injuries.

Fitz never once leaves the room, though he does tuck himself away in a corner so as not to disturb their efforts. He can’t bear to be parted from Jemma so soon after nearly losing her, and they wisely don’t press the issue even if his presence goes against several well-established protocols. He watches mutely as they cut off her clothing and remove the bandages he had been so careful in applying just a few hours ago. She looks so tiny and frail, and he wonders how much more she can take. The depth of her pain and suffering has shaken him to the core.

The rest of the team is similarly shaken, but they spend the time outside of the medical bay. May sinks deep into a Tai chi session, hopeful that the concentration and slow movements will help her regain some sense of control. As she gracefully contorts her body, she considers that Simmons might also benefit from a new activity that will challenge her but won’t require her to use her training from Hydra. She plans to propose just that as soon as Simmons is well enough to join her.

Skye busies herself with collecting everything she can get her hands on that she knows to be a favorite of Jemma’s, from food to beverages, movies to clothing, and everything in between. She is determined to put together the best “it sucks that you're in stuck in recovery, but this should make it better” box anyone has ever seen so that her friend will have everything she could need or want within easy reach.

Mack attempts to work though his frustration with himself for apparently completely misreading Simmons by tinkering with a few odd projects in the Garage that might prove useful in the lab. She’s never asked for anything specifically, but he’s observed Simmons and her preferred workflow enough to know of at least a few changes and devices that she’ll appreciate once she can return to her work.

After releasing some of his pent up anxiety on the shooting range, Hunter devotes the rest of his time to compiling a list of the few authentically British takeaway joints within a 100-mile radius of the base. As soon as Simmons feels up to it, he is going to take her out for proper fish and chips, chicken tikka masala, or whatever other comfort food from home she craves the most. Hopefully with a belly full of takeaway, she’ll let him talk her into his second idea, which will be the best thing ever in his not so humble opinion.

* * *

Unlike the rest of the team, Coulson doesn’t use the time to plan some surprise or gesture for Simmons. Instead, he confronts his own failings. Ever since their initial capture, he’s been meaning to review a half-forgotten file in the Toolbox to confirm his suspicions, but one thing always led to another, and he’s continued to put it off. As Simmons fights for her life, he finally admits that it is long past time for him to do so.

It takes several minutes for him to locate the document, but as soon as he does, he finds a firm foundation for the niggling sense of unease that has plagued him since Simmons rescued the team the first time. Rather than scanning the text as he is prone to doing with the mountains of paperwork now crossing his desk and as he did the first time he encountered this document, Coulson takes the time to read it thoroughly.

* * *

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/135375505@N06/21660354443/in/datetaken/)

At no point does the evaluation mention Simmons by name, but there are too many details that match what Coulson now knows about the biochemist on his team. Mentions of a dissertation, the date of the evaluation, the gender of the asset, and Fury’s warning about her potential all point to one logical conclusion: Jemma Simmons must be Agent 87.

He wonders how he ever became the head of such an elite group of covert operatives when he can’t even put such a simple puzzle together. Given Fitz’s presence on their team as well, he realizes that he had become perhaps overly confident in his understanding of the abilities of geniuses, especially considering what Fitz and Simmons have managed to produce together. Only now can he see that her contributions probably should have piqued his interest long before this moment.

In his defense, he only realized Simmons was legitimately gifted in the Index sense recently and, as per Fury’s recommendation, she clearly had never been officially added to the actual Index. He is immeasurably grateful for that decision now that Hydra has come to light and Romanoff has exposed so many of SHIELD’s files. They are all incredibly lucky that Bakshi hadn’t known Simmons’s true potential after all. Coulson can only guess at how much more tragic this already disastrous situation might have been if that were the case.

Only when he notices the second file linked to the initial assessment does he come to realize just how much he has failed Simmons.

* * *

* * *

Stunned by the monumental nature of his mistake, Coulson stares blankly at the projected document. If Jemma Simmons is truly Agent 87, he had unknowingly placed one of SHIELD’s most valuable assets and one of his most cherished team members in potentially the most dangerous and mentally destructive position he could have. If he had only taken the time to familiarize himself with these documents as soon as Fury handed him the Toolbox, he might have spared her all these months of suffering.

Still, even with the evidence staring him in the face, he wants confirmation of his conclusions before he approaches Simmons. He has apparently already contributed to her irreparable harm by acting without having all the necessary information once before; he won’t make that same mistake again.

That being said, he is already dreading the conversation he is about to have before he even begins scrolling through his contact list. His heart begins to beat wildly as the line continues to ring. Just when he thinks that he’ll be able to put this off for at least a few more hours, she answers.

* * *

“Stark Industries Human Resources, Maria Hill speaking,” she states calmly and professionally.

“Hill, we need to talk,” he responds, with far less control and assurance than he had hoped to display.

“Damn it, Coulson. I told you not to use this number. Stark is already all over my ass because he thinks I’m spying on him. Don’t give the man any more reasons to be paranoid; he has far too many as it is,” she chastises sharply before abruptly ending the call.

Coulson stares as his now silent phone in bewilderment for more than ten minutes. When it rings again, the number is unlisted. He doesn’t bother speaking when he answers the call. He knows who will be on the other end.

“Since it’s the middle of the day, Stark isn’t jetting off somewhere, and I haven’t seen any suspicious reports on the news, I am going to assume that whatever it is you called me about isn’t an immediate crisis, which begs the question, why the hell are you calling me?”

Delivered by anyone else, the words might sound irate or overly critical, but the cool tone in which she delivers them speaks of only confidence and competence. Having served as Fury’s Deputy Director through some of the worst crises SHIELD has faced to date, Maria Hill requires far more than an unexpected phone call to even begin to ruffle her composure. At this point, she’s more curious than anything, but if his suspicions are correct she is going to be irate with him by the end.

Deciding that discretion probably won’t be the better part of valor this time, he asks bluntly, “What can you tell me about Agent 87?”

She pauses for only a split second, but it’s long enough for him to know that she’s taken aback by his question and isn’t sure how to respond.

“Since you’re the man with the Toolbox, I imagine you already know what I can tell you,” she answers cagily.

Unwilling to play into her evasion, he asks outright, “It’s Simmons, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s Simmons. Who else would it be?” she responds calmly, before taking on a harder tone. “That still doesn’t explain why you are calling me out of the blue to discuss this. So start talking, Phil. Why the sudden curiosity about Agent 87? Those documents are fairly straightforward.”

He’s grateful that no one else is in his office to witness his nervous ticks as he tries to think of how to answer that question. For the moment, he decides that leading her slowly to the truth is probably in his best interest. This conversation is about to get very ugly very quickly and he’s in no hurry to help it along to that end.

“I know you and Bobbi keep in touch,” he begins lightly, though he’s not feeling anywhere near as composed as his voice sounds. “I imagine she told you about her stint at Hydra Laboratories earlier this year.”

“Yes, I know she was posing as the head of their security team but that she had to blow her cover before she’d gathered all the intel she wanted. What does that have to do with Simmons?” Hill responds quickly to what seems like a completely unrelated misdirection.

Swallowing audibly first, Coulson questions a bit shakily, “I guess she didn’t happen to mention who else she was working with, then?”

* * *

At first, Hill doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. “I know Sunil Bakshi was in charge of that location and Daniel Whitehall was also involved in their work, but how does that….” she trails off as she starts to realize what his statement might imply.

“You didn’t,” she states flatly, refusing to believe that he would do such a thing. “You are not about to tell me that you did the stupidest thing in the history of all the insanely stupid things I know you’ve done.”

“I let Simmons go undercover at Hydra,” Coulson breathes out in a rush, and as expected her calm and even tone swiftly turns into thunderous, heated criticism.

“You did what? Damn it, Phil! Why the hell would you put her in that situation? I assumed you of all people would be careful with her. That was the only reason I agreed with Melinda’s recommendation to put her on your team. She was only supposed to work with Fitz on research and development. Her assignment parameters were crystal clear. What possessed you to send her?” she shouts at him, grateful that she was already about to leave the office for a late lunch when his initial call came through. At least now she can berate him from the comfort of her apartment.

“What other option did I have, Maria?” he answers, frustrated and the slightest bit defensive. “Bobbi was already on the inside, and after the whole Hydra fiasco, who else in my tiny roster of available agents could I trust? Simmons volunteered, and she was the only one academically qualified to fill the position at the lab. We gave her as much training as we could before we sent her in, and Bobbi kept tabs on her the entire time.”

He knows that he has made a mistake, but he needs her to understand that he did try to do the best he could with the limited resources he had available at the time. He can see now that his desperation in that moment to gather as much information and do as much damage as possible had led to more than one questionable decision, but it wasn’t as if he had intended to throw Simmons to the proverbial wolves. He had tasked Bobbi, arguably his most formidable agent after May, with her protection as soon as it was clear she would be the agent he was sending in, and he did his best to support her as well.

Hill all but ignores his attempted explanation as she works through the timeline of events in her head and reaches a particularly disturbing conclusion: “Let me get this straight. You thought it would be a good idea to agree to let an agent clearly traumatized by a recent near-death experience and the significant injuries her long-time partner and closest friend sustained during that event go undercover in an incredibly hostile and dangerous environment without proper field training and in spite her known inability to lie convincingly.”

He is about to respond when she steamrolls over him, her frustration, disbelief, and disappointment in him reaching new heights: “On top of that, you did so even after you had access to the Toolbox and plenty of time to review the documents it contained that explained clearly why that would be the worst idea in the world even without that level of existing physical and psychological trauma since it is obvious to anyone with half a brain and access to those records that Agent 87 is Jemma Simmons.”

Confronted with the severity of his many and varied mistakes, Coulson can only breathe out an obviously pained and guilt-ridden “yes” in response to her justified verbal assault.

“You are so damn lucky Fury clearly hasn’t heard about this yet. He would have your head if he knew. Simmons was his first intake. Even after he named me Deputy Director, it took months before he finally relented and made me her caseworker. You know as well as I do that he trusts no one and actually likes only a handful of people, but he has a serious soft spot for her. Why do you think he personally sought out and rescued her and Fitz from the ocean? The only reason he approved her placement on your team despite knowing that fieldwork would expose her to more temptations than working in the lab was because of his fondness for her and his trust in you.”

What she doesn’t add is that she’s equally fond of the quirky and exuberant scientist who had started the Academy only a few years after she had. Simmons’s optimism and core drive to make positive changes in the world had reminded her of Coulson, who had been one of Hill’s role models throughout her time at the Academy and in the field. She knows it’s her own fault for putting him up on such a high pedestal, but she is still unbelievably disappointed that he of all people has made this mistake.

“I didn’t think we had to tell you to read the files in the blasted Toolbox when you got it. Why the hell didn’t you?” she questions angrily.

“Why didn’t either you or Fury just take five seconds to tell me I needed to look at those files?” Coulson splutters in response, frustrated that neither of them had thought to just tell him about the documents instead of assuming he would have time to review them at his leisure while trying to piece the agency back together after it had been blown to smithereens.

“What do you mean?” she counters immediately, her confusion evident. “Fury told me he tagged them so they would be one of the initial items you saw when you opened the Toolbox for the first time.”

And the first document was, he recalls, but he had barely paid any attention to it or even questioned why such a file would be among the first visible to him, too consumed with trying to build up the fledgling agency and cope with his persistent and increasing need to carve alien symbols onto every available surface.

“Damn,” he mutters brokenly. “It was, and I was too caught up in everything else to understand what it was or to act on the information.”

He isn’t alone in his guilt. Hill had intended to follow up with Simmons personally after Ward nearly killed her and Fitz, but the fallout from the Hydra coup had been almost more than even she could handle. Struggling to manage the circus of Congressional members, who seemed more akin to kindergartners than supposed political leaders, she had let that conversation slide until it had slipped completely from her radar. Had she checked in, had she pressed Bobbi for more details, she might have been able to prevent all of this.

Only then does she realize that she’s still doesn’t actually know more than that Simmons had been sent undercover. Considering Coulson’s obvious remorse and distress, she begins to understand that she hasn’t heard the worst part of this story yet.

“What the hell happened, Phil? Why are you just now contacting me about this? Bobbi, and I assume Simmons, have been back at HQ for months. Why are we having this conversation?”

She grows more and more disturbed as she listens to him relate as much of the story as he knows. He still isn’t sure what Simmons had revealed to Fitz at the Retreat, but he can guess at least some of it. As the shocking and unsettling details come to light, she struggles to remain silent. Only when he finishes cataloging what little he knows about Simmons’s laundry list of physical injuries and his suspicious about her mental and emotional ones as well does she finally speak again.

* * *

“So other than calling me to confirm your stupidity, tell me just how spectacularly we failed Simmons, and describe just how much damage as been done, was there a purpose to this horrific conversation that isn’t making the both of us justifiably miserable and guilt-ridden?” she grits out, angry on Simmons’s behalf and overwhelmingly disappointed in herself and Coulson.

Although he is drained from describing everything that has happened to Simmons and considering all the ways he could have prevented it, he feels a surge of hopefulness in having finally made it to this point of the conversation.

“That favor you owe me,” he replies confidently, “I’m going to need to cash that one in.”

“I’m listening,” she states, a little wary about what he may say. He had saved her life after she made a stunningly idiotic rookie mistake on one of her first field missions, and in thanks she had promised him a favor of his choice whenever he wanted. He’d been holding on to it tenaciously ever since.

“I know Stark and Banner have been working with Dr. Helen Cho. I need you to get her, the cradle, and any other equipment she has that might help to HQ ASAP. Simmons shouldn’t have to suffer with a long and painful recovery when I could have prevented all of this in the first place. It’s going to take time to address what this has done to her mentally and emotionally, and I’m going to call in Andrew Garner to take that on, but in the meantime I am damn well going to make sure she doesn’t have multiple operations and PT to deal with on top of everything else. I owe her more than this, but this is what I can do now, so can you make it happen?” he asks a bit desperately. Even now that she is technically outside of SHIELD, Maria Hill has connections and resources he can’t even begin to dream of. If anyone can pull this off, it’s her.

All at once, the tension that has settled into her very bones over the course of this call seems to evaporate. This is why Phil Coulson is in charge of SHIELD. This is why she trusts him to make the right call in the end, even and especially when he’s made the wrong one at first. He’d been good-naturedly lording this favor over her for years, and she always suspected he would have her repay it with some gadget or special dispensation for Lola, but she really should have known that it would end up being something like this.

“I’ll have her there tomorrow,” she promises resolutely having no assurance whatsoever that she can make it happen other than her tenacious determination and willingness to cash in several favors of her own if necessary. She owes Simmons this much, too.

He mutters a quiet “thanks” before ending the call. All he has to do now is try to wait patiently as she attempts to work miracles on his, well Simmons’s, behalf. Unfortunately, patience is not one of the virtues he possesses, so he knows he’s in for a long afternoon and potentially long evening depending on how her efforts go.

* * *

In the wake of everything Coulson revealed, Hill is grateful for the distraction of having to arrange for Dr. Cho and her equipment to travel from Seoul to the current SHIELD HQ in under 24 hours. It’s a tall order, but working for SHIELD for most of her adult life has prepared her to make difficult and even apparently impossible things happen at a moment’s notice. Though she wishes the circumstances weren’t what they were, she’s pleased to have something more productive to do than listen to politicians squabble or Stark pontificate on his latest brainchild. The man is brilliant, she’s not debating that, but he is far too prone to incessant chatter and snark. Fury snarked too, of course, but he seemed to do it with more grace and far fewer words.

When she sets out gathering the necessary information to contact Helen Cho, she expects to have to overcome several hurdles. Since the favors she has at her disposal are limited, she plans to attempt to contact and convince Cho to come on her own. Hill hopes that she’s successful because she may not be able to pull this off after all if she has to start using her resources this early in her efforts. Thankfully, Cho has been a fairly regular visitor to Stark Industries as of late, which at least makes finding her contact information fairly straightforward for someone with Hill’s clearance within the company.

Once she has Cho’s information in hand, she debates for several minutes about whether or not to call. It’s the middle of the afternoon in New York, which means that it is very early in the morning in Seoul. Eventually, she decides to call the line listed for the research center. If nothing else, Cho will hear the message as soon as she begins working later in the day. Fortunately for Hill, Helen Cho, like many of the scientists she knows, is not one to pay any mind to trivial things like time of day or regular sleeping patterns. Hill is surprised when the doctor answers the phone, clearly wide awake.

“Cho,” the doctor responds rapidly and with an air of utter distraction.

Her attention is focused on the lab results displayed on the new holographic interface Tony had sent to try to sway her decision to come back to his labs sooner. While she is in love with the technology, Cho isn’t about to back down. No matter how interesting and entertaining working with Stark and Banner is, she has work of her own she needs to accomplish. She’s only half listening to the person on the other end of the line.

“Dr. Cho, my name is Maria Hill. I work for Stark Industries,” Hill begins, hoping that her credentials will be sufficient for the doctor to at least listen to what she has to say.

Cho’s tone shifts to one of mild annoyance: “Tell Mr. Stark that he’s just going to have to wait. He’s not the only one with breakthroughs to make. I’ll be there in two weeks and not a moment sooner.”

Hill can tell that Cho will end the call in a few seconds if she doesn’t catch her attention: “Actually, I’m not calling on behalf of Mr. Stark. I know you’re aware of the Avengers and their connection and possibly mine to an organization known as SHIELD.”

This catches Cho’s interest immediately. She finally stops looking at the hologram and gives Hill her full attention. “Yes,” she responds easily, though her curiosity is clear, “But according to every report I’ve seen, SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore, Ms. Hill. “

“You shouldn’t believe everything you see, Dr. Cho,” Hill rejoinders. “A small group of trusted agents are still working to keep the world safe, which, as you can imagine, is even more difficult than it used to be.”

“I’ll admit that I am relieved to know at least some part of SHIELD still exists, Ms. Hill, but I frankly don’t see how this has anything to do with me. I’m certainly not looking to be recruited. If Stark couldn’t tempt me, what makes you think you can?” Cho answers in a no-nonsense tone. She wishes this woman would simply get to the point. She has results to review and tests to run on her latest developments for the cradle.

“SHIELD isn’t looking to recruit you, but they do need your help. One of their agents has suffered serious injuries during an altercation with Hydra operatives and would benefit from your expertise and equipment,” Hill relates. She can’t afford to reveal too much information, but she knows that Dr. Cho will need at least some context for this request.

“I appreciate what SHIELD does,” Cho responds kindly but firmly, “but my expertise and equipment aren’t available to just anyone. Even if you could meet the financial obligation, which is substantial, I still have to agree to this personally, and you haven’t given me much reason to.”

Sensing that she is losing her again, Hill hopes the next information she discloses will be enough. Helen Cho may not be an Avenger or work for SHIELD, but her beliefs and principles are in line with both groups: “The agent in question sustained her injuries while wrecking one of Hydra’s main research laboratories. According to my contact within SHIELD, she managed to set their work back by years.”

Fortunately for Hill, this is just the carrot Helen Cho needs to finally consider the request seriously: “Excellent. I’ve heard rumors about what goes on in those labs, and, if even half of them are true, any damage done is a step in the right direction. That being said, I will still need more information before I will agree to come, and you aren’t being very forthcoming, Ms. Hill.”

Realizing that she should have expected this, Hill reveals that the agent in question is Dr. Jemma Simmons, presuming that Dr. Cho will be more willing to consider treating a fellow scientist than any other type of agent. She is astonished to discover that Cho is not only familiar with Simmons’s research; she’s an enthusiast.

“You should have started with the name of the agent. This whole conversation could have been a lot shorter,” Cho reveals. “Dr. Simmons’s breakthroughs in biochemistry and her work with Dr. Fitz in biomedical engineering have been the catalyst for more of my research projects than I can count. Her contributions in the last several years have revolutionized this field and made work like mine even possible. I’d be honored to help her, but why was she involved in a fight in a Hydra lab?”

Before Hill can answer, Cho carries on: “No, don’t answer that. I honestly don’t need to know the why and listening to you explain will just waste time I could be packing. Send me details about whatever travel arrangements you are making and whatever you know about Dr. Simmons’s injuries. I’ll need at least a few hours to gather what I’ll need based on that information, but I think I can have my team ready to leave by ten at the latest.”

Determined to do everything she can for her fellow scientist, Cho directs her team to begin packing every machine, apparatus, and instrument that might prove useful. It’s the middle of the night, but she feels even more energized than before, though she knows she will need to sleep on the plane so that she can be at her best when she arrives wherever Ms. Hill or her contact escorts her and her team. She knows better than to ask for a specific location. For now, knowing Jemma Simmons needs her help is enough.

* * *

Stunned by the rapid and entirely unexpected improvement in the conversation, Hill fails to respond before Cho ends the call. Still, satisfied that she has one of her many ducks in a row, she heads back to Stark Industries to tackle the next problem: quick, reliable, and preferably free transportation for an entire medical team and an unknown quantity of equipment. She might hesitate to call in this favor if it would help anyone other than Simmons considering what she had to go through to get it and the potential it holds, but she has no hesitation when she calmly walks into one of the R&D labs.

Stark and Banner are busy nearly blowing up some new gadget they’ve designed, which doesn’t shock her in the least. She’s grown oddly accustomed to hearing mysterious noises or feeling unexpected vibrations at any time of day. She wonders how Pepper Potts has put up with the insanity for so long.

“Stark, a word,” she calls, knowing her no-nonsense tone will remind him of Pepper and prompt an immediate if largely unconscious response. As predicted, he immediately turns his attention to her.

“Yes, Ms. Hill, or should I call you Agent? Have you come to confess that Fury sent you here to make sure I don’t get into too much trouble? Romanoff can give you some pointers,” he teases jovially.

He is legitimately suspicious of Maria Hill’s intentions and goals now that she is working in his company, but he also understands and appreciates the logic and sense that went into her request. As he well knows, it’s always a good idea to have powerful friends and allies in many places. He can’t fault Hill or even Fury, who he knows is alive due to some innovative hacking on Jarvis’s part, for taking advantage of the cover he can provide at this point. He’d rather have her under his nose than skulking about in the shadows anyway.

Hill, like Pepper, doesn’t bother reacting to the taunt: “That favor you owe me? I need your jet. Dr. Cho is coming for a visit.”

“And why is the good doctor, who told me not two days ago that she wouldn’t be able to come play in Candyland for at least another two weeks, suddenly free enough for a visit?” He’s genuinely curious, especially since he wasn’t aware that Hill had even met Helen Cho.

“Classified,” she responds automatically, and immediately winces. That one word gives him more information than she ever intended to reveal.

“Somebody’s in trouble,” he singsongs. “So what’s the deal, Agent Hill? Why should I send my private jet all the way to South Korea on some errand for SHIELD?” Despite persistent rumors to the contrary, all the Avengers are aware of the existence of what remains of SHIELD and of Coulson’s miraculous resurrection, though they aren’t privy to any details.

“She’s needed for a consult,” Hill reluctantly admits. She’ll give Stark only what she absolutely has to at this point.

“A consult with whom, though? I can’t go sending jets halfway across the world for just anyone. Which agent is worthy enough to warrant an audience with the illustrious Dr. Cho when she can’t even spare a few hours to come play in this hub of scientific progress and discovery?”

Annoyed by his attitude but determined not to show it, she states dispassionately, “Dr. Cho will be working with Agent Simmons.” It’s not technically a lie since Simmons might have to be conscious and participate in some fashion during some of the procedures. Besides, she is sure that Stark won’t recognize Simmons’s name or care even he does.

Once again her expectations are clearly unfounded since he practically beams upon hearing the name: “Simmons, as in FitzSimmons Simmons? As in the incredibly perky, endearingly eager, and remarkably talented female half of the adorable science whiz kid duo that took SHIELD by storm and finally breathed life into your decrepit and frankly depressing R&D unit? That Simmons?”

Cho’s willingness to travel suddenly makes much more sense to Tony. Jemma Simmons is a frontrunner in biochemistry and nearly half a dozen other related fields. Of course Cho would jump on a chance to work with her. Hell, Tony would love to collaborate with her as well, and he is sure Bruce would too.

Hill is momentarily taken aback. Stark knows Simmons? Not only knows her, but clearly respects her work. If she didn’t already have a fairly clear understanding of her gifts, Hill would wonder if maybe Jemma’s abilities extended outside of her intelligence to charm and charisma. As it stands, she knows that Simmons doesn’t need any help in those areas. Anyone who meets her and can appreciate her intelligence and enthusiasm can’t help but like her instantly. Stark apparently had a similar reaction.

“Big fan?” she retorts dryly, determined not to even hint at how much he has risen in her estimation through his clear appreciation of Simmons.

“I am a genius after all,” he preens. “Who better to appreciate the wonder that is FitzSimmons than me? I can’t believe I never though to invite them to Candyland.”

Turning to Bruce, he continues, “Just think about what we could invent with two genius engineers and two genius biochemists. They’re like the younger, slightly more adorable version of us, Bruce. Add in Helen, and we might just reinvent several fields and develop some new one’s while we’re at it.”

Willing to give him a little more information now that he’s passed a test she hadn’t even been aware she was giving, she warns, “You’re going to have to wait for that. Simmons is hurt, and Coulson wants to bring Cho in for her treatment.”

The cheery grin immediately disappears from Stark’s face, which turns serious as he asks, “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough to call in Cho,” is all Hill reveals.

“It’s done. Jarvis, make the arrangements,” he directs, tilting his head up slightly as is his habit when talking to his AI.

“As you wish, sir,” the disembodied voice responds immediately. “Conveniently, the jet is already in the region and can be cleared for a new flight plan within a few hours. Ms. Potts used it to travel to Japan for a series of meetings with our investors earlier this week, but she is not scheduled to return until Friday. Shall I alert her of the necessary changes to her travel itinerary?”

“No, need,” Stark responds, his tone still unsettlingly serious, “I’ll call her myself in a few hours to let her know. She won’t mind. She likes Simmons, too.”

Looking back at Hill, he reveals, “We met her for the first time just after she had finished her initial Ph.D. She was tiny and so incredibly intelligent and poised for someone that young. She was presenting at a conference Pepper forced me to attend because Obie was looking for some recruits for the biological warfare division he wanted to start. We never did, thankfully, and I never would have agreed to have her as part of it even if we had. She was clearly meant to do more than that. She makes an impression, you know? I’ve seen her in person a few times and had Jarvis keep me updated on her career ever since. Most of her research has been a little harder to come by in recent years through the traditional channels, but your security protocols are frankly little more than child’s play for Jarvis, so we’re still fairly up to date.”

What little humor has returned to his expression following his admission that he is willfully and continuously hacking into supposedly secure servers vanishes as he turns serious again: “Whatever she needs, I don’t care what it costs, how hard it might be to come by, or even how trivial, see that she gets it. Jarvis will take care of it from our end if you’ll make sure it ends up in the right place.”

He doesn’t care about knowing the location of whatever far flung secret base SHIELD is using now, but he does care that one of the brightest minds and most genuine people in the world has whatever will make her recovery easier and faster.

In this moment, Hill has more respect for Stark than she ever imagined she could. He may be obnoxious, loud-mouthed, and entirely too snarky for her tastes, but he clearly recognizes Jemma for the rare gift that she is, and that counts considerably in her book.

“Thank you,” she tells him sincerely. It’s the most authentic and emotive phrase she’s ever directed at him. In this moment, they are on exactly the same page. She starts to turn to leave, but he speaks again before she has even taken a single step.

“Hill. One last thing. I want to know who’s responsible,” he demands darkly, his intent for revenge clear. Based on the look on Banner’s face and the slightly green tint to his skin, Stark isn’t the only one Simmons made an impression on or the only one enraged by her injuries.

When she pauses, he doesn’t question it. Even now that she is under his employ, he knows good and well she doesn’t answer to him and never will. In truth, she wouldn’t have any hesitation if she and Coulson weren’t so deeply involved in the trauma Simmons suffered. She’d take her lumps without another thought, but she doesn’t need Stark on the outs with Coulson, so she takes a different approach.

“No need,” she eventually responds coolly, though she can’t keep the pride out of her voice as she continues speaking. “Simmons already took care of it herself.”

Hill had felt quite proud of the scientist when Coulson had related how Simmons had taken down Sunil Bakshi, who, in Hill’s opinion, is one of the most insufferable and frankly despicable human beings alive. After all, while she and Coulson had played their respective parts in this tragedy, Bakshi had been the one to lead Simmons down the rabbit hole with his as asinine and insane plan. Thankfully, he's now rotting away in a very secure, very bare cell in the basement of HQ.

“Atta girl,” Tony says in admiration, though his tone remains a bit menacing.

As Hill leaves the lab, he begins creating a mental list of exactly what he, Bruce, and FitzSimmons can do as soon as she’s healed and he can steal them away from SHIELD for a few days, or weeks, or, hell, why not months to begin with.

“Jarvis,” he calls, “take a note,” his grin finally returning as his mind races with exciting possibilities.

* * *

Back at the base, Bobbi’s horror grows by the hour. The longer they work on Simmons’s injuries, the more they seem to find. In the span of several hours, she has counted no fewer than sixteen lacerations that require either stitches or medical adhesive not to mention dozens of others that are thankfully small or shallow enough to require only salve and bandages. On top of the lacerations and the glass shards embedded in her flesh, Simmons has minor internal bleeding from abdominal trauma, torn ligaments in both knees and her right shoulder, two cracked ribs and two with bone bruises, a hairline fracture in her left femur as well as her right ulna, a broken finger, and contusions of varying sizes and degrees of severity all over her body. Add in the lingering effects of the seizure, cardiac arrest, and, to Bobbi’s frustration, malnutrition and dehydration as well, and it’s obvious that Simmons is alive only by some miracle or other divine intervention. Her body shouldn’t be able to handle this many concurrent injuries and stress.

As the injury count continues to climb, Bobbi wonders if they will ever manage to treat them all before infection or some other complication sets in. She and her team are working as quickly and efficiently as they can while still maintaining the best level of care possible, but it looks like their efforts just aren’t going to be enough to avoid leaving Simmons without some lasting reminders of her experience, and Bobbi finds that to be completely unacceptable even as she is powerless to do anything about it.

She is nearly about to throw the instrument in her hand across the room when Coulson calmly walks in, looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world until his gaze lands on Simmons’s battered body. Only then does Bobbi see a curious combination of guilt and anticipation, which is just enough to keep her from hurtling the instrument at him instead.

“Good news, Agent Morse,” be begins in a tone far more cheerful that she thinks he has any right to be. “You’re about to get some much needed help. Dr. Helen Cho is en route here and should be arriving with her team and equipment in the next twelve or so hours. Make Simmons as comfortable as you can until she arrives.”

Coulson had been utterly flabbergasted when Hill had called him back only a few hours after she set forth to try to make his request a reality. He, too, had been unaware of Simmons’s fame and reputation outside of SHIELD. It had never occurred to him that she would be known outside of the agency, but the more he thinks about it the more sense it makes. In order to be the vanguards they are, SHIELD’s scientists have to be up-to-date on the developments in their respective fields and able to call on the expertise of their peers when necessary. That kind of knowledge and networking can only occur if they remain an integral part of the greater scientific community by publishing what research they can and presenting at conferences. Considering her research interests, breakthroughs, and work with Fitz, of course Simmons is on the radar of both Helen Cho and Tony Stark. Coulson is immeasurably grateful that her standing outside of SHIELD has streamlined his request.

In response to his statements, Bobbi stares him down, her mind furiously trying to process what he has just revealed and all the implications that come along with it.

“You called up the foremost specialist on accelerated tissue regeneration and half a dozen other cutting edge medical techniques, who lives on the other side of the world, and she just agreed to fly over here with her entourage at the drop of a hat?” Her skepticism and doubt is so strong it’s almost palpable.

“I called in a favor,” he responds simply, but Bobbi and Hill have been friends long enough that she can fill in the huge gaps in that statement herself. She and Maria had spent more than a few hours over the years coming up with the most ludicrous ideas they could as to what Coulson would finally ask for as repayment for saving Maria’s life. Bobbi respects him all the more for using it in this way.

“And anyway,” Coulson continues, “Neither of them did it for me. They did it for Simmons.”

That Bobbi can absolutely believe since there is little if anything she wouldn’t do for the woman lying still on the gurney either. How this tiny slip of a scientist had made such an impression on her and broken through her generally rigid walls against getting too close to people she’ll never know, and quite honestly now that it’s done she doesn’t really care either. The more people rooting for and supporting Simmons the better, in her opinion, since they clearly haven’t done a good job of it themselves up until this point.

At Bobbi’s nearly imperceptible nod of approval, Coulson departs, planning to use the next several hours to personally see to the details involved in welcoming half a dozen people to a base they technically can’t know anything about.

Bobbi takes a few minutes to rethink the plan she had been formulating before Coulson had interrupted her. Given that Cho and her team will arrive within the day, they need a completely different approach. Bobbi isn’t sure which of Simmons’s injuries Cho will want to treat first or be able to treat at all. They’ve stabilized all the most pressing ones at this point, and Bobbi is reluctant to do anything more that might unnecessarily stress or tax Simmons’s already compromised systems or undermine any of Cho’s efforts.

In the end, she orders half her team away to get some much needed rest while she and the others continue to monitor Simmons’s condition and vitals. Like Coulson said, their job for the foreseeable future is to keep Simmons comfortable, and Bobbi takes her jobs very seriously.

* * *

When Helen Cho finally arrives, she is horrified to find Simmons in such a condition. Even with the details Hill had relayed to her, she had not expected this degree of damage, especially to someone who in her opinion had no business being placed in a situation where she could be hurt in the first place. Simmons’s skin is so discolored and marred with gashes that she is nearly unrecognizable. Fortunately, Cho is confident that she can effectively erase or heal all of her injuries over the course of a few days given the equipment she has brought, procedures she knows, and medications to which she has access or can generate.

She plans a three-stage treatment plan: for the better part of today, she will use the cradle to address the most serious tissue damage. Tomorrow she will employ some revolutionary medications and treatments to correct the bone injuries. On the final day, she will once again use the cradle to heal the remaining tissue damage. If Simmons’s injuries were less widespread and if her system were not already so compromised and weakened, Cho could conceivably heal all the damage in a single day, but Simmons’s body cannot possibly cope with the strain of so much regeneration at once so she won’t even consider attempting it.

Unsurprisingly, Simmons remains unconscious throughout the first day. Her mind and body are in desperate need of a break from doing anything more taxing than keeping her alive, though that in and of itself is a more difficult task than it otherwise might be. Still, Cho and Bobbi are grateful for her continued unconsciousness since it makes treating her wounds that much easier.

Cho is fascinated as she watches the cradle regenerate and knit Simmons’s ravaged tissues back together, erasing copious amounts of damage as if it never even happened. All her life, she has dreamed of being able to limit suffering and speed recovery. Medicine, for all its advances, is still largely a very painful, invasive, and expensive profession. In fact, despite her efforts to find alternative materials and reduce other costs, the type of medical intervention the cradle can provide is years or perhaps even decades away from being a viable option for the general public. The only reason she can provide such an advanced and accelerated treatment plan for Simmons is because of Stark’s willingness to front the expenses and procure or replace whatever materials she needs as a result of it. Still, someday in the future, she will be able to help make this a reality for anyone, and she largely has Jemma Simmons to thank for sparking the idea that led her down the path to developing this technology in the first place. It seems fitting that Simmons should be one of the first people to benefit from what it is capable of doing.

* * *

Having successfully addressed the damage to her abdomen, shoulder, and knees and the worst of the lacerations in the cradle, Cho turns her attention on the second day to the various bone-related injuries. Her most recent project had been to develop a serum capable of substantially accelerating the body’s ability to heal bone breaks. Fortunately, since the only truly broken bones in Simmons’s body are small, the serum should allow her body, which is now in much better condition due to the cradle and Bobbi’s efforts to address the malnutrition and dehydration, to correct the damage within the next few hours. The short time needed should also give Simmons most of the day to rest before they put her back in the cradle for the final round of treatment.

Unfortunately, such rapid healing also stimulates the body’s pain receptors resulting in a mildly uncomfortable to excruciatingly painful experience for the patient depending on the severity of the break or breaks being targeted during the treatment. In light of that knowledge, Cho initially suggests that they consider placing Simmons under general anesthesia to limit her perception of the pain. She and Bobbi debate the idea for nearly an hour before deciding to wait to see how Simmons reacts. Both are concerned about administering an anesthetic when Simmons has not yet regained consciousness. Neither wants the woman to experience any more pain than she already has, but they also don’t want to potentially cause more harm in their effort to block her pain. Both regret the decision as soon as one of Cho’s technicians starts to inject Simmons with the serum.

Simmons hasn’t been truly aware of much of anything since succumbing to her injuries at the Retreat, but her brain has processed some sounds and sensations. She remembers feeling her body jolt several times. She remembers hearing first pain and then relief in Fitz’s voice though she can’t recall the words he spoke. She remembers hands on her body and the sound of an unfamiliar, persistent hum. She remembers when the pain finally started to fade. None of these things prompted her to react, but now that the pain has lessened, she can feel the sensation of a hypodermic needle being inserted into the fleshy part of her thigh and that sends her into a panic.

She jolts up unexpectedly, taking everyone by surprise. The lights and sounds of the room disorient her immediately as does the presence of more than half a dozen people she doesn’t recognize. Eyes darting frantically, she finally focuses on the technician in front of her, who had the sense to remove the needle as soon as she had moved. Unfortunately, he also bears a striking resemblance to the Hydra agent who had helped Bakshi administer the Faustus method. Disoriented and confused, she assumes that she has somehow been captured and attempts to move to defend herself and escape. She never utters a word, but the sounds of terror and pain escaping her chapped and bloodless lips haunt them all.

Bobbi, recognizing the utter panic and fear in her teammate’s expression, doesn’t wait for Jemma to react. She isn’t about to let her injure herself or anyone else. Grasping a second syringe firmly, she chooses an injection site, inserts the needle, and depresses the plunger before Simmons can manage to slide off the bed. The sedative takes hold quickly and Bobbi supports Jemma’s body as it yields to the effects. Settling her back onto the gurney as gently as she can, Bobbi meets Cho’s shocked gaze. Despite everything they are doing to treat Simmons’s physical injuries, it is markedly clear in this moment that her mental wounds are going to be the real challenge.

The whole episode only spans about a minute, but it feels significantly longer to all those witness to it. Silence hangs over the room like a shroud for several moments after the harrowing experience as everyone tries to come to terms with what past experiences could prompt such a visceral reaction. As if by unspoken agreement, they all resume their tasks nearly simultaneously, except for the original technician, who waits patiently for Bobbi and Cho to decide whether or not to continue the treatment.

“As long as the sedative won’t cause any adverse reactions or hamper the serum, I think we had better proceed,” Bobbi suggests.

If Cho’s initial estimates about the length of time this treatment will take are correct, Jemma should be free of the sedative’s effects a few hours after the final bones have healed, which should allow her to return to a normal state of either consciousness or unconsciousness with relative ease and little pain. Having come to the same conclusion herself, Cho agrees and both are relieved when the rest of the day passes without any additional surprises and with all of Simmons’s x-rays showing complete repair to the damaged bones.

* * *

Having been banished from her side for the majority of the previous two days, Fitz firmly refuses to leave her for any part of the third. Given that all the major injuries are now a thing of the past, Bobbi agrees without too much persuasion. She understands his need to be close to Jemma, and she had only limited his access to her to avoid having one more person in the already overcrowded room during the most complicated procedures.

From his perch next to the cradle, he watches in fascination as it heals the remaining lacerations and bruises. He’s particularly awestruck as the deep purple contusions around her eyes fade away to nothingness. After only a few short hours, her body shows absolutely no sign of having been battered and bruised nearly to the point of oblivion. Even still, she does not wake.

Bobbi and Cho both assure him that this is a completely normal and healthy way for the body to respond to stress and injury, as Fitz should well know given his nine-day coma following the pod incident. Nevertheless, every moment she is silent and still cuts him to the core. He hasn’t heard her voice for days, and the silence is slowly driving him mad. There are so many things he needs to say to her, and so many things she probably still needs to say to him.

When they finally remove her from the cradle and situate her on a bed in the far corner of the bay to give her some sense of privacy when she finally does awaken, he pulls up a chair and prepares himself to wait by her side until that moment arrives. Unable to help himself, he passes the time by running his fingers across hers to let her know that she is safe and loved. But his actions are not for her alone. He needs to feel the warmth of her now unblemished skin and the steady beat of her pulse under his fingers to convince himself that she is alive. Every so often and without any kind of warning, his heart seems to plummet as he remembers the moment when hers had stopped and his certainty at that time that he had lost her just when he had found her again.

Sitting at her bedside, he has a completely new appreciation for how she must have felt as he remained in a coma. Her comments about how impotent rage had consumed her as she waited for him to awaken now make perfect sense, though he has far more assurance that she will suffer no lingering physical effects than she had about him. That being said, he is worried that her mental injuries will be the greatest hurdle she needs to overcome, and he is resolved to do or be whatever she needs to help her find herself and feel comfortable in her own skin again.

For the time being, he has to deal with his own anger now that he knows at least some of the truth. While the majority of his ire is directed inward now that he realizes just how misguided and cruel he has been to her, he still feels significantly irritated at their teammates. Their assumptions and actions over the last several weeks had contributed to the breakdown that had nearly taken her from all of them.

Even so, he knows that he needs find a way to move past that anger so that he doesn’t fall into the same trap that has already caught the both of them, first her during his recovery and then him during her time undercover and the months after. If nothing else, this experience has firmly cemented for him that actions taken out of anger ultimately end up being most destructive for the person committing them. They’ve already wasted too much time and done too much damage to themselves and each other because of anger. They both need to uncover and address the roots of that anger and develop healthier coping mechanisms so that they can truly move on, hopefully as friends and maybe eventually as something more if that is what she wants because, no matter how angry or frustrated he has been with her, his love for her has never once waivered.

* * *

As he continues to stroke his fingers gently up and down her skin, he hopes that she can feel that love and take comfort in it. Little does he know that she is aware of the sensation, though it concerns her as much as it soothes her. As she feels familiar calloused fingers run gently over her forearm and hand, she wonders why the movement doesn’t hurt in the least. She remembers having multiple gashes, bruises, and a broken finger that should make the touch incredibly painful. In fact, her entire body feels perfectly fine, which convinces her that she is either dreaming or dead. Only under such circumstances could she experience no pain and be the recipient of such gentle, loving human touch. If she is dead, she hopes Fitz won’t blame himself. If she is dreaming, she hopes never to awaken. For now, she doesn’t have to confront what she has become. She doesn’t have to face the consequences of her actions. In this moment, for the first time in more than a year, she finally feels at peace and she is determined to stay that way as long as possible.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter doesn’t read as filler. I really felt like we needed to explore more of the backstory that the previous chapters have hinted at, and healing Jemma’s injuries is important for the content that is coming in the next chapter. I didn’t want to interrupt the pacing too much between the last chapter and the rest, which deal with how Jemma learns to heal from this experience and trust herself again, by making her physical recovery a really drawn out process. Thanks to Age of Ultron, I had an option for speeding it up significantly so I ran with it. 
> 
> I also had no idea when I started writing this chapter that it would include such developed scenes with Hill, Cho, and Stark, but as I wrote I found that I loved the idea of Jemma having a hitherto unknown fan base of sorts. Considering her intelligence, I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t be a star in the greater scientific community. After all, she had already earned two Ph.Ds. by the time she was 17, and that was before she had joined SHIELD. Also, when she’s not traumatized, she is such a happy and loveable character (I think she’s still lovable when she is traumatized of course, I just mean that I think other people would gravitate toward her enthusiasm). Once I latched onto that train of thought, I just couldn’t let it go. Hopefully it seems plausible to the rest of you. I think it will be important for Jemma to see how much others believe in her inherent goodness as she attempts to work through all her issues. I also thought it would be adorable if Fury was the one who brought Jemma in initially. I can absolutely see him having a soft spot for her. I often wondered (other than the plot device it clearly was) why the writers had Fury rescue her and Fitz. This seemed like a good enough reason to me. 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with this story since the updates have been so sporadic. I have four more chapters planned, and I expect they will all probably be about as long as this one. If they start to get too unwieldy, I’ll break them up. Like this chapter, there will be a little bit of angst in all of them, but for the rest of this fic, we get to see Jemma face her demons and heal, and if the last chapter goes according to plan, we’ll get some nice fluff to close out the story. 
> 
> I hope you are enjoying what is here so far and what is yet to come. Thanks for reading!


	9. Restrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she finally wakes, Jemma has more demons to face than even she realized, but the team isn’t going to let her do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t even put into words how sorry I am for making all of you wait so long for this chapter. I’ve been trying to write it for months, and each time it just wouldn’t come together. This ended up going a lot of places I didn’t expect it to, and it’s changed a little of what I had planned for the rest of the story, but I still think it gets at the heart of the issues I wanted to explore. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Two more days pass before Jemma awakens. During that time, Fitz rarely leaves her side, and he certainly doesn’t leave her alone during the few moments he steps or is called away. At Coulson’s insistence and with Dr. Cho’s approval, his injuries, though minor compared to Jemma’s, have been treated as well. Unfortunately, since Cho’s machines and serums can’t address mental and emotional trauma, Fitz only feels half healed as a result of the care.

Skye is Jemma’s most frequent visitor, though May is surprisingly always on hand as well. Fitz can understand Skye’s insistence to sit with Jemma. The two of them had bonded quickly in those initial months following the formation of their team, and, despite the brief period after Skye’s powers emerged when Jemma had been more than a bit irrational about nearly everything, Skye seems willing and eager to rekindle their flagging friendship now. Desperate to ensure that Jemma has a safety net of friends to help her come to terms with everything, Fitz encourages Skye’s attempt, even going so far as to share his time with Jemma with her. He might be angry with his team and himself, but he isn’t about to allow that anger to impact Jemma’s recovery.

As for May, Fitz has no idea why she is apparently willing to sit with Jemma at a moment’s notice. They have all long since stopped believing May is the stony sentinel she so often projects, but even now she still shows little emotion and has never to his knowledge sat at any of their bedsides when they’ve been injured. As Coulson’s right hand, she usually has much more important assignments to complete. If that is still the case this time, she has apparently made Jemma her priority instead, but Fitz can’t understand why. At times, he thinks he catches something akin to understanding in May’s eyes as she looks at Jemma, but it’s gone in a flash. Unable to tease out the riddle that is Melinda May, Fitz simply accepts her help and tries not to dwell too much on it. There are other matters far more in need of his attention.

Though he spends nearly every hour of those two days with Jemma, Fitz only speaks on a few occasions. Initially, he is at a loss for words. What could he possibly have to say to her? How could he ever apologize enough for what he had put her through? Eventually he decides that apologies will only go so far anyway. Actions do speak louder than words, and he’s determined to show her just how much she means to him and that he is willing to do whatever she needs. She’ll never have to wonder if she can depend on or confide in him again. He’ll make sure of that.

In those moments when he does speak, he mostly recounts stories of their happier days at the Academy and Sci-Ops. He wants her to remember that there was something good before the horrors of the past year. He wants her to see despite their recently strained relationship and her protestations to the contrary that he still sees how good and kind she is at her core and that he still believes in her wholeheartedly. On the few occasions that his grief and guilt threaten to overwhelm him, he simply whispers his love for her as he cradles one of her hands between his own.

He finds it almost impossible not to have some kind of contact with her. In recent months their interactions have been fleeting and impersonal when they have happened at all. In the years prior, they had often been in close contact since neither appeared to have any sense of personal space, but they had still maintained some boundaries. Now, he feels like he might collapse when deprived of the feeling of her skin under his fingers. He has no idea how he’ll manage when she wakes up if she finds that kind of intimacy unbearable. He hopes that his need will lessen when he can finally hear her voice again, but he has serious doubts.

* * *

By the end of the second day, he’s exhausted both emotionally and physically. He is desperate to see her eyes, to hear her voice, to feel her fingers grip his, anything, but she remains still and silent. Though Dr. Cho has seen to his injuries, his entire body is sore from folding his lanky limbs into awkward positions to sleep in the chair at her bedside. Despite his discomfort, he’s determined to be with her when she awakens. It will be his first act to prove that he trusts her and won’t abandon her again.

First pressing a gentle kiss to her now unblemished forehead and tucking an unruly lock of her hair behind her ear, he settles in for another long night. He expects to struggle to fall asleep, but he’s out like a light nearly as soon as he settles into stillness, his hand still clutching hers like a lifeline. Unfortunately, though he needs to rest, his sleep is not peaceful.

Hours later, Jemma finally gives up attempting to remain in her blissful state of unconscious respite when she hears Fitz whining her name as though he’s in pain. Nothing up to this point has been enough of an incentive for her to even consider leaving her peaceful mental sanctuary, but his distress pulls her back into reality as rapidly as she had left it.

Peering blearily around the room, she has to wait for a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but she can still hear Fitz’s whimpers all the while as he battles through what she realizes must be a nightmare.

“No, Jemma. Please, no. Please,” he pleads in desperation and fear.

Assuming from his words and tone that he’s frightened of what he witnessed her do, she pulls her hand from his embrace. The movement, however, only seems to distress him more.

“No, please!” he moans brokenly. “Please don’t go, Jemma. Please come back to me. Please.”

Stunned into stillness, Jemma watches as what little light is in the room reflects off the single tear that escapes from the corner of Fitz’s eye. When he seems to choke back a sob, she immediately shifts to a seated position so that she can easily thread the fingers of one of her hands back through his while using the others to card through his cropped curls in an attempt to soothe him. Shushing gently, she he gives herself over to the moment, not bothering to think about her actions or any meaning that might be behind them. Her only concern is easing his distress.

The return of her touch seems to break Fitz out of the worst of the terror. “Jemma?” he questions first, hope somehow effusing from the few scant syllables. Then he says her name again, as though confirming her presence and finding nothing but peace in it. She continues to run her fingers through his hair and to squeeze his hand gently. After a few moments he settles, a small smile just quirking the corners of his mouth as he presses his head against her thigh and grasps her shin with his other hand.

In response, she simply breathes quietly for a few minutes, trying desperately to understand how she has ended up back on the base with Fitz attached to her like a limpet. Having barely regained consciousness, her memories of the last several weeks are hazy at best at the moment, but she feels confident that she remembers enough to know that she should be covered in injuries. One look at her arms and brief wriggling of her major muscle groups reveal that she is somehow miraculously healed. A closer inspection of Fitz reveals nothing more than deep smudges of purple under his eyes as though he simply needs more rest. She could have sworn she remembered a cast on his arm and a bruise at his temple.

Deprived of physical evidence and reluctant to wake Fitz from the rest he so clearly needs to ask him for an explanation, Jemma has no way to verify what she thinks she remembers. For a brief moment, she begins to hope that her hazy memories are nothing more than an elaborate, extended nightmare. Maybe they weren’t captured. Maybe she never revealed her training or joined the rescue party. Maybe she never obliterated Hydra labs and so many of it scientists and guards. Maybe she never took refuge at the Retreat or bared all her secrets and skeletons to Fitz. Better yet, maybe she hadn’t even given into Bakshi’s madness. Maybe she’d never woken up after the pod. Maybe Fitz has just been waiting for her to wake up all this time instead of the other way around. Maybe.

She wants desperately to believe that any or all of those maybes are true. She wants this quiet, peaceful moment with Fitz to last forever. Matching his small smile, she continues to run her fingers through his hair, pausing the action only a few times to gently brush her thumb across his brows or to trace the shell of his ear with her index finger. She pours every bit of love she has never admitted to herself much less to him into those movements.

Still, after a few moments, she can’t help but remove her fingers from his springy curls to reach for the tablet that he’s left tucked by her legs. In this dark and quiet room, she could live on a lifetime of maybes and the sight of Fitz sleeping peacefully, but eventually someone will turn on the lights and she’ll have to face whatever reality is true. She doesn’t want to be blindsided when that time comes.

Since he never bothers changing his passwords, she gains access easily. Almost immediately, the smile vanishes from her face and her stomach drops. Since her medical records were the last files he had accessed, the first item she confronts is a pair of dated images of her face and shoulders. The first, with a timestamp five days prior, shows her with her lurid bruises and mangled skin glittering with what looks like glass shards. The second, apparently taken two days later, shows her as she is now; free of any indication that she had ever been injured.

At a speed that would impress anyone given that she can only use one hand since Fitz seems to need some physical tether to her, Jemma rifles through countless records until she can piece the entire story back together. While he sleeps unaware of her growing despair and distress, she pours over the documents, and all of her maybes shatter when the files confirm that her worst nightmares are true. She had followed Bakshi into insanity. She had revealed her darkest secret to her team in an effort to save them. She had descended into madness when Hydra had threatened Fitz. She had killed people as she freed him and their teammates. She had hidden herself away, hoping to protect them from what she had become, and she had laid her soul bare to Fitz when he’d found her a few days later.

She lingers over the files that document what happened after she fled from Hydra Laboratories. These are the pieces of her recent past she doesn’t know, and she is now desperate to understand both how they found her and how they have managed to return her body to such a pristine state. The longer she reads, the more stunned she is by the sheer amount of time and resources they’ve expended on finding and caring for her. She can’t imagine what kind of favors or funds Coulson had to use to convince Helen Cho to bring the cradle to the base.

She, perhaps better than anyone in SHIELD, knows how costly such treatment is, and she feels wholly unworthy of it. In fact, she is appalled that anyone would waste the cradle’s potential on her when it could be used for someone much more deserving. Even after reading the lengthy list of her injuries that Bobbi had spent hours meticulously recording, she is frustrated that they didn’t treat Fitz’s injuries first. That they could think she is more deserving than him exasperates her. That they could believe she merits of any kind of consideration after what she has done baffles her. She wonders in this moment, with the evidence of her depravity clearly laid out for all to see, how they can even stand the sight of her. She has fallen so far from grace that she will never be able to atone for her actions. Surely they must realize that.

She is startled out of her mental self-flagellation when Fitz suddenly squeezes her fingers. Almost fearfully, she glances to the side to stare down at his slumbering form. She swears she sees the purple smudges under his eyes darken with each passing second, as if through the contact between their hands she is somehow corrupting him with whatever poison or malaise clearly runs through her veins. Again she tries to remove her fingers, fearful of how she might taint him, but he immediately tightens his grip, his brows furrowing in distress. At the sight of his suffering, she immediately allows her hand to go lax in his and he once again settles. She continues to stare at their intertwined hands in fear, as if at any moment her mere presence will cause him some irreversible harm.

* * *

When he wakes a few hours later, she hasn’t moved. Her gaze is still locked on their hands. His return to consciousness is a bit slower than hers, but once he opens his eyes, he is almost immediately aware that her body is no longer in the prone position it has been for nearly the last week.

Unable to help himself, he bolts upright so swiftly that it should startle her. She doesn’t so much as twitch, though she does momentarily break her steadfast gaze on their hands to peer at his face through her lashes. He is too busy drinking in the sight of her desperately, as if he might never have another chance to look at her, to notice the momentary shift of her eyes.

Seeing the utter relief and adoration on his face only makes her fear deepen. Even after everything she has put him through, everything he has witnessed, he still doesn’t seem to understand that she isn’t something to be adored or even tolerated. She is something to be caged and feared. She corrupts and poisons everything she touches.

When he finally ducks down enough to catch her gaze, the fear on her face has him immediately reaching out and pulling her into what he hopes is a comforting embrace. As she trembles in his hold, he tries to soothe her with words and long strokes down her back.

“Shh, Jemma. It’s alright. Everything’s going to be fine now. I promise.”

Soon, his words begin to wobble and waiver as he gives into the tears he has wanted to shed for days. He’d been so sure that he’d lost her that having her back in his arms, physically whole, is more than he can manage. He squeezes her tighter as he finally voices his fears and begins making promises about the future. He’d intended to admit his feelings in a more romantic fashion, but in this moment he needs her to know how he feels, trappings and plans be damned. He can’t dance around it anymore. Even if she never shares his feelings, if the past year has taught him anything it is that he has to take advantage of every moment he has with her because it might very well be their last together.

“I’d thought I’d lost you, and I couldn’t bear it, Jemma. I couldn’t live if you didn’t. I don’t know how to exist in a world that doesn’t have you in it. I don’t want to," he admits shakily, his tears soaking the collar of her shirt. “I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I love you. I swear I do, and I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life showing you how much if you’ll let me. Please, let me try to show you how much you mean to me.”

A few months ago, his declaration of love would have had her heart pounding and tears pooling in her eyes out of sheer disbelief and happiness. In this moment, those reactions are the result of almost unbearable grief. Before her descent into madness and depravity, she might have one day deserved his love. Now, she is sure that she never will, but what tears at her heart more than her inability to ever be worthy of his love is the fact that she knows with absolute certainty that he won’t allow himself to even consider loving someone else. If he can still profess his love for her so sincerely and ardently after everything she has done, she knows that his feelings for her won’t waiver, no matter what she does or doesn’t do. She grieves for the life he could have had without her corrupting presence, for the pure, untainted love he might have found if not for her.

She realizes in this moment that she is truly the worst thing to have ever happened to him. By loving her, he is condemning himself to a life of misery because she is apparently fated to hurt him at every turn, even when she is trying to protect him, even though she loves him too. She’ll continue to poison him and he’ll gladly consent to the damage she causes, no matter how deep or painful. When she accepts that truth, she breaks under the weight of the knowledge. Sinking her head down into the crook of his neck, she continues to shudder as tears of misery and pain leak from her eyes.

Feeling the dampness on his neck, Fitz gathers her closer still, beginning to rock her gently in an effort to calm her. He misinterprets her tears and continued silence as evidence of her lingering anxiety over what has happened and what she revealed in the Retreat. He has no idea that she is crying over the future she believes she has stolen from him.

Eventually, she cries herself back to sleep. Her body may be healed, but her mind is still shattered and bruised, and it can only cope with so much input before it can take no more. When he moves to rest her back against the pillows, he realizes that she still hasn’t uttered a single word, and it worries him. Silence isn’t an unusual way for her to deal with trauma, but this quiet hadn’t seemed like she couldn’t find the words. Rather to him it felt like she was dying to say something but forcibly held herself back.

Given the torrent of words she had released when she realized he was willing to listen in the Retreat, he wonders why she feels the need to remain mute even now. Bottling up her feelings and fears clearly hadn’t worked for her in the past. He hopes that when she wakes again she’ll tell him any and everything running through her head. It’s an unrealistic hope since Jemma, even during their best days, never told him everything, but he’s determined to show her that he’ll listen even and especially when what she has to say is painful or difficult. He soon discovers that his hopes are in vain. He has to wait several more days before he hears her voice again, and he struggles not to break when he finally does.

* * *

When she wakes again several hours later, she is back in her room, though she isn’t alone. Fitz is perched next to her on the bed and Skye is sitting backwards in the chair by her desk. She spends a few minutes listening to their conversation before opening her eyes. She wants to bask in their chatter just a little bit longer before she inevitably silences it with her presence.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” she hears Skye ask anxiously.

Fitz laughs lightly before responding: “You’ve somehow managed to track down each and every one of her favorite foods, you have her favorite movies in a queue on your computer ready for a binge fest, you’ve found a supplier of her favorite shampoo that I swear was discontinued two years ago, and you are willing to give up your spot on the couch in the common room for her even though you’ve sworn repeatedly that nothing and no one could ever make you move. I think she’ll be thrilled.”

His tone is so light and carefree. He sounds happier than she’s heard him in over a year. She wants to freeze this moment so he can stay that way, but she can’t. She can’t do anything other than crush his hopes it seems, and rather than shy away from the inevitable hurt, she opens her eyes to confront it head on. There is nothing else to do. She deserves to be miserable because of what she has done, but she wishes more than anything that she didn’t have to drag him along with her. He’s forever paying for her mistakes, and she finds it patently unfair that he should suffer when she is the one who is to blame. Then again, maybe the universe has the right idea in the end. After all, nothing torments her more than the thought of him hurting, so how better to punish her than to make her both the woman he loves and the source of all his pain and suffering. He’ll never let her go, and she’ll do nothing but bring him agony.

Without ceremony or any prior indication that she is awake, Jemma moves quickly from her prone position to sit, her back pressed solidly against the wall. Her sudden movements startle both Fitz and Skye, but both are too overjoyed to see her awake to remain stunned for long.

“Jemma,” Skye greets warmly, relieved to see her teammate awake and coherent for the first time since the incident at the Retreat. She still struggles at times to forget how Jemma had looked convulsing on the glass-covered floor.

“Hi, Jems,” Fitz murmurs softly, hoping not to overwhelm her like he probably had the first time she woke.

When Jemma doesn’t respond to either greeting, Fitz and Skye share a concerned look.

“Jemma?” Fitz tries again, reaching out to ghost his finger over the top of her hand.

When he gets close, Jemma pulls her hand away. She can’t bear the thought of his gentle touch. She doesn’t deserve his comfort or understanding. She refuses to accept it even though she wants it.

Fitz tries to ignore the sting of her rejection. He has to remind himself that he promised to be whatever she needed. In this moment, what she needs apparently isn’t his touch, so he won’t subject her to it even though he feels a bit lost without it.

Pulling her knees into her chest and locking her arms around them, Jemma stares at the coverlet on her bed intently, even as Fitz and Skye continue to try to prompt a response. She swallows down the words attempting to claw themselves out of her throat. She pushes them back, gritting her teeth against them and locking them tight before they can escape. Trapped, they skitter around her mind, battering against her already damaged psyche and sending her into a spiral of self-blame and guilt.

Fitz watches as she seems to crumple in on herself. He’d been afraid of this reaction. Afraid that she would once again seal her hurts inside to fester instead of letting them out so she could heal. He knows he won’t be able to break them out of her in the same way as before. Tea and an unexpected willing ear had been enough at the Retreat. This time he fears that it will take something more to set off her release, and he worried that whatever more is will be destructive and painful. After all, no one is apparently better than Jemma at pretending she’s fine long past the point when she is really breaking inside.

Skye may not be as well versed in understanding the body language of one Jemma Simmons as Fitz is, but she is aware enough to know that her friend needs something to take her out of her head at least for a little while.

“Jemma?” she begins a bit forlornly, expecting more stony silence, “Are you sure you don’t want to watch a movie with me? I’ll bring my laptop in here if you don’t feel like being out in the common room. You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to. We can just watch the movie and eat shortbread Tumbles. I know how much you love them, so I ordered a mountain of them for us.”

When Jemma doesn’t so much as even blink at the sound of her favorite treat, Skye is sure that she won’t respond at all. If she hadn’t been watching her friend intently, she would have missed the tiny shake of Jemma’s head indicating that she didn’t want to take Skye up on the offer.

Deflated but determined to be supportive, Skye responds, “Okay. You come get me if you change your mind though. I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. We haven’t had a movie night in like forever, so it’s about damn time we did.”

She shoots Fitz a look as if to say, “you better know how to fix this because I sure don’t,” before she quietly leaves the room.

Fitz tries unsuccessfully to draw even the smallest sound from Jemma for the next quarter hour, but she seems to just sink further and further into herself. He’s completely at a loss as to what to do for her, and finally decides to cut his losses for the moment. His effort only seems to be making her more withdrawn and reluctant to speak, and he doesn’t want to make her anymore uncomfortable than she already is.

Before he leaves, he quickly shucks off his soft grey cardigan and drapes it across her shoulders. It’s clear from her continued trembling that she’s cold, but she hasn’t made even the tiniest move to grab anything that might ward off the chill since waking. He has a sinking feeling that she will just sit there shivering for the rest of the day if he doesn’t do something. If he can’t do anything for her by physically being with her, he can at least leave her with a reminder that he cares.

“I’ll come check on you in a little while, Jemma, but if you want to see me before then, I’ll be in the lab.” He’s trying not to smother her with concern, but he also wants her to know where he’ll be if she suddenly decides that she doesn’t want to be alone.

He isn’t surprised as the day wears on that she never takes him up on the offer. Jemma has always been one to lick her wounds in private. It had taken him years to convince her to open up to him, and he’s afraid that he’s undone all that work with his actions since her return from being undercover. If that is the case, he’ll work as hard as he needs to regain her trust. No matter how determined she is to face the future alone, he won’t let her. They’re FitzSimmons, and it’s about damn time they started acting like it again. Even if she never loves him the way he loves her, he has still been her best friend for more than a decade, and he’ll gladly resume that position for the rest of their lives if that is what she wants. No matter what obstacles she throws at him, no matter how much she fights against letting him in, he’ll push back until she believes in him again.

* * *

Jemma feels immediately warmer when Fitz drapes the soft fabric over her shoulders, but she doesn’t react until several minutes after he leaves the room, his promise and offer hanging heavily in the air. She remains stiff as a statue as the words in her mind continue to feed her non-stop loop of self-loathing and blame. Only when she sinks her head a bit lower into her knees as the weight of her emotions pulls her down does the scent of Fitz finally overshadow the cacophony in her head. His cardigan smells a bit like bergamot, tea, and solder with the barest hint of Persil buried under the rest. It the same combination of scents that has always permeated Fitz’s clothing and rooms since Jemma met him, and the moment she breathes in deeply and the scent envelops her, she loses her hold on the control she has so carefully maintained.

Resting her head against the wall, she shoves her arms through the sleeves to pull the cardigan tighter around her before crying into the cuffs. She wants to flee her room and run straight into Fitz’s arms. She wants to bury herself into his embrace and pretend that she hasn’t ruined both of their lives. She wants to hear him whisper promises and soothing nonsense in her ears as she brokenly relates how sorry she is for every bit of pain she has inflicted on him. She wants so much, but all she allows herself is this brief moment of weakness as her tears dampen the soft fabric.

She has only just finished drying her face with haphazard swipes when she hears a knock at her door. She doesn’t respond, but she does keep her gaze fixed on the entrance in preparation for whoever has decided to visit her now. She is surprised when Coulson enters, but the emotion doesn’t show on her face. She looks like a marble statue to him with her face frozen and body eerily still. If not for the steady rise and fall of her back as she breathes, he might think she were really somehow frozen in time.

“Agent Simmons,” he begins, falling on formality as he confronts her deadened, red-rimmed eyes and struggles to bear the weight of her gaze. He reduced her to this with his negligence and blind determination to hit Hydra as hard as possible. Bakshi was right. He had thrown her to the wolves, overly confident in his decision and completely ignorant of the true significance of the danger he’d put her in.

Unable to endure her vacant stare, he averts his eyes only to catch sight of a picture of her and Fitz from one of their earliest missions as a team. Looking at their bright eyes and sunny smiles as they pose in front of the ruin and mentally comparing that to the expression she currently wears, he sucks in a deep breath in an attempt to quell the profound sorrow that takes hold in his heart.

He knows a director shouldn’t have favorites. A director should be able to separate his personal feelings from his duties to SHIELD. A director should always be able to maintain his composure in even the direst of situations. But Coulson wasn’t the director when he became head of his ragtag team. He wasn’t the director when Skye’s near brush with death had cemented for him how much their team had become a family. He wasn’t the director when they banded together after the Hydra takeover. He was just a man. But he was Director when he ignored the files about Agent 87 in his first few days of having the Toolbox. He was Director when he agreed to let Agent Simmons go undercover. He was Director when he implicitly asked her to use her training despite her impassioned warnings against it. He had failed her in every way and in every capacity possible. He had failed her as her Director. He had failed her as the leader of her team. He had failed her as a friend who had come to regard her in many ways as he did Skye: as the closest thing he might ever have to a daughter.

Turning to look back at her again, he catches her stare and admits with clear regret and anguish: “I am so sorry, Jemma. I’m sorry I failed you. You deserved better from me.”

His confession startles her, and her eyes clear a little as the confusion overshadows everything else in her mind. She brought all of this on herself. She can’t understand why he feels like he is to blame for any of it. Only when he continues speaking, does she believe she understands why he is offering this apology.

“I should have known,” he continues, almost frantic in his need to lay his mistakes out before her. “The minute the Toolbox was in my hands, I should have put the pieces together, but I didn’t. I had no idea until recently. You’re Agent 87.”

Unaware of his conversation with Maria Hill, Jemma interprets his last statement as a veiled question and nods in confirmation. She isn’t in any position to deny the truth of that statement to the current Director. One of the stipulations of her continued service to SHEILD after her intake was to confirm her identity to the Director and Deputy Director should she be asked. She’d only had to do so one other time: when Agent Hill had visited her at Sci-Ops several years ago. Director Fury of course already knew when he became Director since he was the one to conduct her initial intake.

Even though he already knows it to be the truth, seeing Jemma confirm her identity takes Coulson’s guilt to new depths.

“Oh, god. Jemma, no amount of I’m sorrys is going to make this right. I never would have sent you undercover if I had known. I never should have put you into that situation anyway with what you and Fitz had just been through. I was reckless and irresponsible and now you are paying the price.”

She can see that he will drown in his guilt if she doesn’t do something. She weighs the words carefully in her mind before she says them. If she doesn’t do this cautiously, she may let them all loose, and she can’t allow that to happen again.

“I knew better, and I volunteered anyway,” she offers, as if her statement will absolve him of his guilt.

It is the truth after all. She did know better, so ultimately the responsibility is hers rather than his. He’d only been Director for a few weeks before she volunteered anyway. He had more important files to review than whatever records Fury had kept about her in the Toolbox. Beyond that, she can’t imagine what she would have done had she remained at the base. She was clearly no use to Fitz, and she did mange to gather significant intelligence during her undercover stint. No matter the personal cost, her work had been valuable to SHIELD, and that was what mattered most to her in the end.

“Be that as it may, it’s my job as your director to keep assets like you safe, Jemma. You never should have been in a position to have to make that decision.”

The look she gives him clearly indicates that she doesn’t accept that statement in the least, but he actually finds a little bit of hope returning at her response. If Fitz’s report is accurate, this is the most engaged she has been in an interaction since waking and the first time she’s spoken. He’s desperate to keep the conversation going.

Turning the desk chair around to face her, he sits heavily, resting his elbows on his knees before speaking in a tone so unguarded she can’t help but listen attentively.

“I’ve been through something life altering as well. I know what it feels like to come back from something like that and feel like you are a completely different person than who you used to be. To question if you can even be yourself after it all. I had to nearly die again before I asked for the help I needed. Please don’t make that same mistake. We’re all here for you Jemma. Let us help. Please.”

When she doesn’t respond, he sighs and continues: “I’ve asked Dr. Garner to return to the base. He’ll schedule sessions with you each day until he feels confident that you can be cleared for duty again. I should have asked him to come when Fitz woke up from his coma, but I was too distracted to see that you got the support you needed. That ends now.”

Hearing this latest ultimatum, Jemma struggles to rein in the frustration and anger that seem to come from nowhere. She doesn’t need to spend hours babbling away at Andrew Garner. Psychologists can work wonders for most people, but _she_ isn’t most people. The only thing sessions with Dr. Garner will do for her is frustrate her as she spends hours wasting time constantly analyzing the intent of his questions and sidestepping the supposed truths he hopes to prompt her to reveal. Her time would be much better spent in the lab developing new protective measures for their field agents. Hydra won’t take kindly to what she has done to their main research facility, and she can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting hurt because of her.

In any other situation, the indignation evident on her face would amuse him. Now it just makes him wary: “Please don’t fight this, Jemma. We can’t afford to lose you. You mean too much to everyone on our team for us to let you gloss over this or try to get through it alone. You’re off duty until Andrew clears you. Please give us a chance to help you.”

Seeing that his pleas are falling on deaf ears, he sighs again. This wasn’t how he hoped this conversation would go, but he is at least making sure she has access to the care and support she obviously needs. He’ll lead her kicking and screaming to the proverbial water if he has to, but he reluctantly admits that he can’t force her to drink it no matter how much he tries or wants to for her sake. At some point, she has to reach out the rest of the way. He hopes that she does before she’s too far gone to come back. Even now, he can see her continuing to break into smaller and smaller fragments of who she used to be as she strains under the weight of what has happened.

“I _am_ sorry for everything, Jemma,” he confesses one last time as he leaves. “If you find that you want to talk about anything, my door is always open.”

When she hears the latch of her door catch, she lets out a quiet snort of derision at the thought that talking through any of this will do her any good. Each time she’s spoken about it, it has backfired spectacularly. She is well aware of the depths of her depravity, and now so is Fitz and possibly the rest of her team depending on how much they had heard. She doesn’t need anyone else to know just how far she has fallen. She doesn’t need to rehash verbally the memories that seem to play on a never-ending cycle in her mind. She doesn’t need yet another person to confirm what she already knows: she deserves to live with the knowledge that she is and always will be a monster. She deserves to suffer for what she has done. She made her bed; now she is determined to lie in it no matter their protestations or insistence that she doesn’t have to.

* * *

Her first several sessions with Dr. Garner turn out even more poorly than everyone expected. Other than the few words she spoke to Coulson, Jemma has yet to actually speak since waking even though it becomes harder and harder each day to choke back the words. They’re threatening to overwhelm her, especially now that Andrew is dredging up memories she would rather leave buried.

She expects him to launch immediately into questions about her undercover work at Hydra, but he surprises her by beginning with questions about her childhood. Though she doesn’t respond verbally, his questions do force her to relive memories she had hoped she’d forgotten as answers clatter through her mind despite her best attempt to remain aloof and disconnected from the session.

“When did you realize that you weren’t like other children your age?”

That was easy, she was four and she marveled at how much trouble her slightly older cousin had reading when she was devouring several novels a day.

“How did you feel in that moment?”

Like an outsider. Her parents had been proud, but her extended family had been wary of her intelligence and aptitude. She remembers their barely concealed looks of suspicion as if it were yesterday. That wariness had only continued to grow over the years until she rarely interacted with them at all. They kept their distance, and she was too busy learning all she could about the next subject to pay much mind to their actions or lack thereof, though she did notice it.

“How would you describe your childhood?”

Short. She never felt much like a child even when she technically was one. By the time she was eight, it became apparent to her that she would never connect with her peers on any level, either social or intellectual, and she was quickly outpacing her parents, who while not geniuses were very gifted in their fields. She remembers truly playing on only a few unremarkable occasions, and she doesn’t recall experiencing the same childish highs and lows that her peers seemed to.

“What is your favorite memory?”

Being paired with Fitz in Chem. lab. Her mental response is immediate, but even without sharing her answer she knows that it’s wrong. Dr. Garner meant her favorite childhood memory, but none of them compare to that day in Chem. lab with Fitz. Nothing does. That day was a turning point in her life. She’d finally met someone just as socially awkward as she was and as close to her level of intelligence as possible. Fitz had been everything she needed and never knew she wanted in a friend. He was her perfect compliment in every way. Still, here in the aftermath of her recent choices, she wishes they hadn’t been paired for his sake. She wishes they had remained bitter rivals instead of partners. She might have spared him had that been the case. She would gladly go back and face the rest of her life without him if it meant he could have a happier one without her.

* * *

As she continues stubbornly shutting everyone and everything out, Fitz tries everything he can to show her how willing he is to support her. During the day, he makes time to visit the kitchen to prepare her favorite meals and snacks, and he tries not to feel disheartened when he finds that she’s rarely managed to do more than nibble on them if she’s touched them at all. He makes sure to stop by her room once he knows she has finished her session with Dr. Garner to see if she is willing and ready to talk. She never is, but some days she seems to tolerate and even need his presence, though she never allows him to do more than briefly hold her hand or sit by her on the bed. Sensing that a one-sided conversation will only make her uncomfortable, he sits with her in silence, hoping that just his presence brings her some feeling of comfort or sense of stability.

In the evenings, when his mind, overwhelmed with work and worry, can handle only the most basic and repetitive of tasks, he painstakingly stitches Jemma’s favorite shirt back together. Since she seems to avoid his touch during most of the fleeting moments they are together, he takes comfort in holding the garment. It’s one of his few physical tethers to her at the moment.

As soon as they’d reached the base, Bobbi had cut the shirt up one of Jemma’s sides to allow her and the medical technicians full access to Jemma’s battered form. Even before she rent the fabric with her scissors, Bobbi had noticed the bloodstains and small tears from the glass Jemma had fallen into and her resulting injuries. With her mind firmly on caring for her teammate and with no knowledge of just what this shirt meant to Jemma, Bobbi had discarded it in a bin alongside the bandages Fitz had been so careful to apply. She couldn’t imagine Jemma wanting to keep it given the damage.

With little else to do, Fitz had swiped the torn and bloodied garment from the bin, hopeful that he might be able to salvage what remained. He knew Jemma would be devastated to discover this shirt had been one more casualty of the day, so with the utmost care he devoted his evenings first to removing the bloodstains and then to stitching the torn fabric back together. Thankfully, Jemma had long ago developed a solvent capable of removing bloodstains from even the most delicate of fabrics. Unfortunately, the glass tears and split seam prove to be more difficult to mend.

Though his manual dexterity has improved remarkably over the months, Fitz still doesn’t have the kind of control over his hands that he had in the past or that he really needs for such delicate work. By the end of the second night, the tips of his fingers are sore and throbbing from the many times he has pricked them with the needle and his eyes are tired from focusing so long on the tiny, even stitches he is determined to use. In spite of his physical discomfort, he keeps working, viewing each stitch as an apology for his offenses against her or as a promise for a better future together. Even after several nights of working on the garment, he is still several more away from mending all the tears, which seems fitting since he appears to be no closer to helping Jemma mend either.

Despite his efforts, she grows more and more distant each day. Her eyes are dull, almost glassy. It’s as if the past few weeks have finally reduced her to little more than a shell. She seems less deadened with him, but only slightly and not nearly enough for it to be any kind of comfort. She is merely going through the motions: alive but not living. It’s painful to watch, and he wonders how long she can keep going in this way.

* * *

Despite everyone else’s growing concern, Andrew doesn’t take Jemma’s continued silence as a sign of failure on his part. Jemma Simmons isn’t the first or last person to believe herself beyond the reach of psychological intervention. He can see that his questions are forcing her to think even if she isn’t sharing the answers with him. The brief flickers of emotion in her eyes never last more than a split second, but they are there and their presence is the first step toward progress. Each day Jemma has to work harder and harder to maintain her stony indifference, so he continues asking questions, knowing with certainty that one day he will find the right combination to unlock the mental deadbolt she is strangling herself with. That moment comes sooner than he expects.

“How did you feel when Fitz pressed the button to detonate the explosion in the medical pod?”

She sucks in a shaky breath and then holds it in as words strain against her pursed lips. Devastated. Angry. Determined. Abandoned. Frightened. Powerless. Confused. Overwhelmed. Lost.

It’s the closest she’s come to speaking since he started her sessions, and he knows despite the brief flash of anger evident in her eyes that he would dare ask such a question that he is getting closer to the moment when she gives in to the words she clearly needs to say.

His questions over that session and the next push her nearly to the breaking point, but she still keeps herself just on the other side of it. He’s never seen someone so committed to remaining in a self-created purgatory. Her body may be healed, but her mind is anything but. She’s still losing weight, and if the circles under her eyes are any indication she still isn’t sleeping. For all her determination to maintain her stony silence, she looks fragile, but that certainly isn’t how she feels.

After four days of enduring Dr. Garner’s apparently never-ending questions, Jemma feels like she is at the end of her rope. She doesn’t know how much more prodding she can take. She’s frustrated that he won’t give up. She’s angry that he’s forcing her to relive the most painful moments of her life with him as a witness to the reactions she can’t smother quickly enough. She exhausted and overwrought and desperately in need of doing something other than listening to his questions, avoiding the concerned stares of her teammates, and staring mindlessly at her wall as she tries to quell the desire to bury herself in Fitz’s arms and let him try to piece her back together.

Since Coulson has restricted her access to anything work related, her options for attempting to work though her anger and frustration are very limited. She can either try to distract herself in her room, which has been only marginally effective, or she can venture forth and try to distract herself outside of it, but that means that she’ll have to try to maintain her composure around other people. Taking one look around her room solidifies her decision. She can’t be here, surrounded with pictures of her and Fitz smiling and blissfully unaware of the dangers and heartache that awaited them.

She throws on workout wear and rushes off to the same gym she had visited nearly two weeks ago to try to work through the fear overwhelming her from her nightmare and impending breakdown. She no longer feels afraid, having somehow survived the breakdown, but she is still just as agitated and in need of the mental break running might grant her if she pours enough of her concentration into the activity.

* * *

Though she appears completely unruffled as she navigates through the base’s maze of corridors, she feels like her skin is crawling. She’s almost speed walking by the time she reaches the gym, but she nearly turns around when she sees Mack and Bobbi sparring. She doesn’t want an audience, but she also isn’t willing to trek back across the base to the gyms on the other side. She chose this one specifically because it was secluded and usually unoccupied. The anxious energy thrumming under her skin makes the decision for her, so she barely spares the sparring pair a glance as she hops on the same treadmill and begins working her way up to a steady pace.

The room remains silent for roughly the next ten minutes other than the sound of Jemma’s feet rhythmically hitting the belt and the strikes of Bobbi’s and Mack’s punches as they land a few blows on each other. Then, just as she had done in that early morning hour, Jemma ratchets up the speed to try to outrun the demons that seems to creep closer every day. Hearing the whir of the machine accelerate, Mack can’t help but glance over at Simmons every so often as he tries and usually succeeds to dodge Bobbi’s blows. Despite Simmons’s best efforts to look unaffected and completely disinterested, he catches her looking at them in longing more than once. At that point he understands that she needs something a bit more forceful than running to settle whatever battle she is waging internally, so he invites her to join them.

If she’s startled by what would normally be an unexpected offer, she doesn’t show it. She simply steps off the treadmill, her breathing winded from trying to maintain her pace, and makes her way over to them on the mat. She’s managed to bring it back to normal by the time Bobbi helps her into the sparring gloves and guards. Despite Bobbi’s protestations, Jemma refuses to don the head guard. She never had one at Hydra. In fact, she never trained with any protective gear when she was there. Hydra didn’t believe in softening blows.

She should be wary of putting herself in this situation. Sparring like this is likely to trigger her training even if she’s mindful to keep it under control, but in this moment Jemma can’t bring herself to care. She needs some way of releasing all the emotions that are threatening to crush what remains of her. Running had done nearly nothing her help her manage the weight. She hopes sparring will require enough of her attention that she can at least forget the emotions even if she can’t pummel them into oblivion.

Even decked out in most of the protective garb she should be wearing, Jemma is so tiny in Mack’s presence that he holds back, unwilling to land anything more than the softest blow though he knows she needs the release. Despite the energy radiating from her form and the fact that he invited her over, he just can’t let go to give her what she truly needs in this moment.

Bobbi notices Jemma’s mounting frustration as she tries to provoke Mack into legitimately sparring with her instead of maintaining the half-hearted showing he’s giving her now. Bobbi, maybe more than anyone else, understands the need to work through emotions with prolonged physical activity. Tapping Mack out and stepping in to take his place, she faces Jemma head on and shudders at the memories this position evokes. For a split second, she sees Jemma back in the cat suit with that cruel, unnerving smirk on her face as they battled in the abandoned warehouse. Were it anyone else, Bobbi might use this opportunity to exact a little revenge for being knocked out like a rookie during that match. Since it’s Jemma, her only goal is to help her obviously traumatized friend and colleague work through some of what she is feeling before she collapses again.

Despite Bobbi’s best efforts to draw her out, Jemma refuses to give up the last bit of her control and fight with everything she has. Though desperate for release, she won’t let go completely because she doesn’t trust herself. She knows once she lets go she’ll once again be a slave to her emotions. Despite her earlier conviction that she was no longer afraid, Jemma fears diving back into that world of chaos and anger. She fears of who she’ll be if she even comes out the other side again. She fears hurting yet another of her teammates and friends.

Bobbi refuses to let Jemma hide behind that fear. She knows that Jemma needs to be honest with herself for the first time since waking up after her collapse. She needs to own this part of her past instead of fearing it. She needs to embrace her training while surrounded only by people who love and care about her so that they can help her overcome all the negative emotions and memories she has associated with it. Knowing how to defend herself effectively and efficiently is a significant advantage for a scientist like Jemma who somehow constantly finds herself in the field, but Bobbi knows that Jemma can only see the skills she has gained in this area as evidence of how much damage she is capable of producing. Where Simmons sees only the potential for destruction Bobbi sees the potential for self-confidence and protection for both Jemma and the people under her supervision. The only issue, Bobbi regretfully admits to herself as she and Jemma circle each other again, is that she’s going to have to convince Jemma to let go first, and that is going to be easier said than done.

The first ten minutes of their match appear vicious to the people who have stopped to watch it, but both Jemma and Bobbi know that they’ve only just scratched the surface of where it could end up going. Skye, Hunter, and May have joined Mack as he watches from the sidelines, wincing each time Bobbi lands a blow on Simmons and silently cheering when Simmons lands on one Bobbi. For such a tiny slip of a woman, she certainly packs an impressive punch. Only when Bobbi manages to pin Simmons down on the mat does the true sparring actually begin.

When she pins Jemma, Bobbi doesn’t consider how sexual the pose might be under different circumstances, but Jemma does. The moment Bobbi traps her arms above her head and presses her pelvis firmly against her own to restrain the movement of her legs, Jemma is thrown into a vivid flashback of one of the Hydra guards rutting against her as he held her in this same pose, whispering filthy comments in her ear about what he would do to her if she didn’t manage to break his hold. The moment she comes to and violently shoves Bobbi off of her, Jemma finally begins to fall over the edge to her breaking point.

Her eyes, deadened for days, now flash with uncontrolled fury. Given how silent and withdrawn as she has been since waking, the grating scream that rips from her throat startles them all, including Bobbi, who barely manages to dodge Jemma’s next punch. In fact, she is hard pressed to keep up with Jemma’s speed and agility. The match escalates quickly as Jemma pours every piece of herself, all her anger and fear, all her frustration and shame, into the fight. She lands several truly painful blows on Bobbi, who gives as good as she gets.

Within minutes, they are both bloody and bruised, but Bobbi refuses to give in until Jemma does. Jemma needs to know that even when she feels like she is at her worst her team is still going to stand behind her and help her through whatever she is facing. She needs to know that Bobbi won’t fail her again. So Bobbi presses on, even long after she would have normally called the end of a match with anyone else. This has moved beyond reckless into dangerous territory and she knows it, especially when she lands a quick but powerful jab that sends Jemma crashing into the wall.

“Jesus, Bob,” Hunter barks as Jemma shakes her head to clear her vision, “Cho just put her back together. Don’t beat her to a bloody pulp.”

He moves as if to pull her off the mat and away from Jemma, but May stops him, understanding Bobbi’s motives for this knock down, grudge-match of a fight.

“Shut it, Hunter,” Bobbi growls in reply, her eyes never moving off Jemma’s circling form. “She needs this.”

Horrified by the state of their teammates, Hunter, Skye, and Mack watch in fear as they continue to fight each other. May, though just as troubled that they had to bring Simmons back to this point to set her on the path to recovery, doesn’t allow her emotions to get in the way of her job in this moment. She’s here to make sure neither Jemma nor Bobbi inadvertently does irreparable harm to the other. The minute she thinks one will, she’ll intervene and take them both down if necessary. When Fitz rounds the corner and takes in the frightful site, she realizes that she may need to add restraining the onlookers to her job description as well. Thankfully, Mack intervenes before Fitz can even step a toe onto the mat.

“Cool it, Turbo. I know it looks bad, but Bobbi’s getting through to her in the only way Simmons can understand right now.”

Fitz takes little comfort in Mack’s statement. All he can see is Jemma bloodied and bruised again as she had been when he’d found her at the Retreat. He’d hoped to be spared the sight of her blood for quite a while after her treatment in the cradle, but that was apparently not to be. He’d also hoped to find her either asleep or quietly resting in her room when he’d gone to check on her after her appointment with Garner, so it seems that all his hopes are destined to be dashed today.

Chest heaving as she lands blow after blow and nearly pummels Bobbi to the mat, Jemma finally begins to speak, and what she reveals nearly breaks them all. It only takes Bobbi seconds to realize that Jemma isn’t actually talking to her. She’s talking to what Bobbi will always represent in one corner of her mind: Hydra. At some point during the last few minutes, Jemma has stopped seeing her as one of her teammates. Instead, Bobbi has become a sort of corporeal avatar of the organization and people Jemma fears and hates most.

Dr. Garner’s insistent and incessant questions have led her to this point even though she never realized it, and she finally gives into one of the truths she has been fighting against for months: despite thinking she always maintained the upper hand, despite believing that only her choices are to blame for her current state, she is as much of a victim in this situation as anyone else. The emotions she has kept tightly locked away because she was too afraid of them upsetting her mission finally burst forth. The words she has swallowed down since waking erupt out of her with a ferocity and conviction that stuns them all. She confronts and has to accept the fact that Bakshi and Hydra hurt her too, in ways that even she, with her twisted sense of self-worth and blame, knows were undeserved and brutal. Admitting this, owning her anger and fear, and acknowledging her continued vulnerability is a critical step for her, but she’s too far gone in the moment to appreciate its significance.

“You hurt me,” she seethes as her fist connects with Bobbi’s solar plexus. “You pushed until I bled. You pressed until I broke. Everyday, you forced me to give up part of myself to play a stupid game that nobody won.”

“I became exactly what you wanted, and still you brutalized me,” she screams as Bobbi successfully blocks a punch to her face. “I did everything you asked, and it was never enough. You enjoyed my pain. You got off watching me suffer and struggle. You forced me to be cruel and merciless. You hollowed me out, turned me into an empty, soulless shell, and poured in your malice and depravity, and I let you. I let you do that to me, but no matter the warnings I ignored, no matter the mistakes I made, no matter how much I willingly played your game, I _didn’t_ deserve what you did to me. I didn’t deserve that pain and torment. I didn’t deserve what your hands did to my body or your words did to my mind. I didn’t deserve _any_ of it.”

Eventually, Jemma loses steam, her assault growing weaker by the minute. She isn’t trained for prolonged combat like Bobbi. When her body starts to tire and fail, she finally breaks and admits what Fitz had realized days ago at the Retreat: “I hate you. Everything you’ve done. Everything you believe. Everything you created. I hate you, but I hate myself more.”

“I hate myself more,” she whispers as her tears fall and her legs give out.

* * *

Helpless to do anything more as she tries and fails to think of something to say, Bobbi catches Jemma and pulls her into a tight embrace. The only sound for the next few minutes is Jemma’s desperate sobs. Only now that they hear the conviction of her self-loathing do they understand how deep her trauma runs. Only know do they realize the intensity of pain she has suffered alone.

“Oh Jemma, no,” Bobbi laments as she pulls the shaking woman closer. “No. Don’t say that.” Ever since that day in the warehouse all those weeks ago, Bobbi has felt responsible for so much of what Jemma has suffered. In this moment, with Jemma falling to pieces in her arms, she can no longer ignore those feelings.

“I should have been more observant,” she confesses. “I should have gotten you out of there sooner. My job was the keep you safe, and I failed. I’m sorry, Jemma. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

The only rejoinder Jemma can manage through her tears is the shaking of her head back and forth. When she can control her breath long enough to form comprehensible words, she’ll do her best to make Bobbi see that she never blamed her for any of it. Even if she had intervened sooner, Jemma never would have trusted her. Up until those final, terrifying moments, she believed Bobbi was Hydra. Had she confronted her before her cover had been blow, Jemma would have just assumed that Bakshi was trying to either trick her or test the effectiveness of his methods. In fact, until they landed on the quinjet and she heard Tripp’s voice, Jemma had believed just that.

When Fitz moves as if to gather Jemma from Bobbi’s arms, Skye pulls him back and shakes her head. She knows that the only thing he wants to do is comfort and soothe, but she pleads with him wordlessly to let her be the one to do it instead. In this moment, Skye sees herself all those months ago, shaking and frightened in the quarantine room. She remembers how much she hated herself in those initial hours after realizing that she had powers and what she had done with them. She feels closer to Jemma than she has since that moment, and she thinks that she might be the only one who can help her take the first step out of the prison she’s built for herself.

At first Fitz wants to refuse her. He wants to be the one to hold Jemma tight and dry her tears. He wants to be the one who calms her trembling limbs and convinces her that she doesn’t have to try to deal with her traumas alone. He’s been waiting for this moment for days, and he wants to be her knight in shining armor. But seeing the determination and understanding in Skye’s eyes takes all the fight from him. Fitz may want to be the one to pick up Jemma’s pieces, but he can’t be her only ally in this fight. He has to help her see that not only can she lean on him, she can lean on everyone else as well. He has to give the others a chance to make their amends as well, even if all he really wants to do is be selfish and keep Jemma all to himself. She deserves more than that from him. She deserves someone who sees her as an equal, not some damsel in distress. She deserves someone who will place her needs over his selfish desires. So, he steps aside and watches as Skye kneels at her side.

Sensing that the rest of them will be an unwelcome audience when Simmons is once again aware of her surroundings, May ushers Fitz, Hunter, and Mack away. Before he leaves, Fitz shoots one more concerned glance in Jemma’s direction. He’ll trust Skye to help her through the next little while, but he won’t let the day end before seeing her again. He isn’t sure if she was even aware of his presence at the end of the match, but on the off chance that she was, he won’t allow her to think that anything she’s said has made him distance himself from her. And, if he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to sleep until he knows that her wounds have been treated and she isn’t in want of anything else.

* * *

Careful not to startle the two women, Skye reaches out and grasps Jemma’s hand to begin removing her gloves. Despite the padding, her knuckles are already starting to bruise. Skye’s grateful that Helen Cho and her team have already left the base because she’s sure she would be horrified that they’ve effectively undone so much of her hard work in little more than twenty minutes.

Working quickly but cautiously, Skye loosens and removes the rest of Jemma’s protective gear as the battered scientist rest weakly in Bobbi’s arms. A few of Bobbi’s blows have left shallow wounds that need to be treated, and Skye wants to clean them up as soon as possible. Normally, she would ask for Bobbi’s help, but it is clear that the tall blonde needs some looking after of her own, so Skye gently pulls Jemma away and helps her to stand.

“I’ve got her,” Skye assures Bobbi as she helps Jemma steady herself. “Go get yourself cleaned up.” Bobbi nods, placing her hand on Jemma’s shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze before she leaves the room. Each of them is going to have to help Jemma make peace with her actions and find something to look forward to again. Skye might as well be the one to get the ball rolling.

As Skye pulls her from the gym and leads her back toward the residential wing of the base, Jemma tries valiantly to quiet the lingering hitches in her breath. She wants to hide behind her armor of indifference again, but her armor, like her, has been shattered beyond repair, and she’s too exhausted to try to cobble together anything out of the shards.

She’s surprised when Skye leads her back to her room, but it doesn’t show it. It’s been months since she has been in this space and very little has changed. Skye’s hula dancer is still perched on her rather bare bookshelf. Her clothes are still strewn about, as if she tried on dozens of more colorful outfits this morning before settling on the conglomeration of black pieces she’s wearing now. Her laptop is open and the screensaver is still a slideshow of all the pictures she has taken with members of their team. Jemma recognizes most of them as she stands motionless while Skye picks her way over to the closet, but there are a few that she’s never seen that must have been taken sometime over the last few months.

When she catches sight of a picture of the two of them grinning ear to ear that was taken just days before the showdown in San Juan, Jemma has to swallow the lump that immediately forms in her throat. “Skye,” she calls miserably, her head hung in shame, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Having successfully rummaged around in her closet to find the basic first aid kit that seems to be in every room in this base, Skye turns her attention back to Jemma and is stunned to see how guilty and ashamed she looks as she continues speaking. Despite her earlier determination to keep her words trapped inside, Jemma’s far too exhausted after her most recent breakdown to try to force them back, and she’s owed Skye this apology for months anyway.

“I spent all that time at Hydra playing games with Bakshi when I should have been trying to uncover everything I could about the diviner. I might have discovered how to help you learn to use your powers safely. I might have been able to develop something that could have spared Tripp.” Her voice gives out when she voices their teammate’s name.

At first, Skye doesn’t respond. She simply motions for Jemma to sit on the bed so that she can tend to her wounds and bruises. She knows that what she says in this moment may be the most important words Jemma ever hears her speak, and she wants to choose the right ones.

“You know, I know what it’s like to come to terms with the reality you can be utterly, terrifyingly destructive,” she admits quietly as she gingerly layers antiseptic cream over the small gash above Jemma’s left eyebrow.

“All you see when you look at yourself in the mirror is everything you think you have destroyed, everything you might destroy if no one stops you. I get it, Jemma. I’ve been there. I understand what it’s like to be so afraid of yourself that you shut everyone out, but it doesn’t help. That isolation? It only makes it worse. No matter how scared you are that you might hurt them, you have to let other people in. You have to believe that we’ll keep you safe, even from yourself, until you can figure out what to do. Fitz taught me that when I thought that I’d never been anything more than a monster.”

Skye’s words should comfort Jemma. She, perhaps better than anyone, apparently understands the venomous thoughts that have held Jemma prisoner for months. Skye has battled with them too and overcome them in the end. But the words don’t soothe her. They only increase Jemma’s feelings of guilt and shame because she knows that she was largely responsible for feeding Skye’s fears in those initial weeks after her transformation because of how she responded.

As if she hasn’t heard a word Skye has said, she apologizes again and tries to explain herself, desperate for Skye to understand her motivations and to know that she never believed she was a monster: “I’m sorry for how I treated you after San Juan. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was afraid of you. I was afraid for you. That’s why I made you the gloves. I didn’t want to inhibit your powers because I though you’d hurt us. I wanted to inhibit them so they wouldn’t hurt you. Once you started to use your powers, I was terrified that you’d hurt yourself trying to keep us safe.”

It’s clear she wants to say more, but Skye interrupts her: “But Jemma, don’t you see? That’s what you’ve been doing yourself. You have this gift, and you’re determined to use it to protect everyone else, but you’re hurting yourself in the process. I know that you think you’re somehow singlehandedly responsible for keeping everyone safe because you’re gifted and they’re not, but you aren’t. You can’t be. I can’t be. No one can be. None of us are strong enough to do this on our own. No matter how freakishly awesome your brain is, you can’t anticipate every curveball the universe throws our way. No matter how much control I gain over my powers, I can’t take out every threat that faces this team. We’re gifted, but we’re part of a team for a reason, Jemma.”

“Even if I’m not responsible for keeping everyone safe, I’ve killed people, Skye,” Jemma counters. “I’ve made choices that will haunt me forever.”

Exasperated that Jemma is still determined to see only her faults, Skye tries a different tactic: “Yes you have, but these last few months don’t erase everything you’ve done or everything you were before. They don’t erase everything you still can be. I know what it’s like to believe that you’ll never be anything but destructive, but I also know how important it is to give yourself the chance to be something else, something more. Punishing yourself forever for what you’ve done won’t change anything. Deciding to take the chance to be something more just might. The choice you make now is what matters most, Jemma. Where will you go from here?”

Looking into Skye’s eyes, Jemma wants to take comfort in her convictions. She wants to feel the sweet relief of having her burden lifted, but there are still so many issues that Skye’s words, though heartfelt and probably true, don’t touch, and until Jemma can work through the rest, even her teammate’s best effort won’t convince her that she can somehow find peace at the end of it all.

Despite Jemma’s doubts, Skye _is_ making headway. Her words are offering Jemma the life raft she has so desperately needed since pulling Fitz through ninety feet of water. Now, all Jemma just has do is reach out and take it. Of course, that is much easier said than done.

* * *

After leaving Skye’s care, Jemma isn’t sure what to do with herself. Her mind is at war. One side is still screaming abuse and feeding her guilty conscience, but there is a new voice fighting back. It’s faint, but the longer she considers Skye’s words the stronger it grows. Unfortunately for Jemma, it isn’t strong enough yet to completely overpower the part of her that still believes she should suffer for what she has done. Nevertheless, it is just loud enough that she unconsciously makes a choice that will put her on a path to true recovery. She chooses to acknowledge her broken pieces and trust someone else to help her put them back together again.

* * *

Unable to find relief in the lab due to Coulson’s orders and unwilling to return to her own room, she wanders aimlessly around the base until she finds herself standing at Fitz’s door. It’s ludicrous to think that he’ll be in his room. It’s the middle of the day. He’s likely at the lab trying to make up for the work she isn’t doing. Even knowing the odds are long and without the faintest idea what she might say if he is inside, she knocks.

Reclined on his bed, Fitz is startled to hear someone rapping at his door. After leaving the gym, he’d returned to the lab only to stare half-heartedly at his desk for a few minutes before turning around and retreating to his room. He can’t shake Jemma’s confession loose from his mind. He just keeps hearing her scream at Bobbi and then whisper the secret she’s kept guarded for far too long. His concentration is shot and no amount of effort is going to help him produce anything worthwhile today. He plans to do nothing more involved than sitting here in silence for a few more hours before trying to find Jemma.

When he opens the door, he’s shocked to see her standing there. It’s the first time since they brought her back to the base that she has willingly sought out his company. She seems just as shocked to see him based on the way her eyes widen when they meet his.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Within seconds, he’s itching to reach out and pull her into a hug. She certainly looks like she could use one, and it’s been days since he’s had any significant contact with her. She wants nothing more than to bury herself into his chest and hold on tight. Every time he’s embraced her recently she has been a passive participant, too scared of herself and what she might do to him to do more than rest limply in his arms. The last time she really held on to him with everything she had was at the bottom of the ocean. Remembering the heartbreak of that moment spurs her into motion. She doesn’t want that to be her last memory of holding him. She wants new ones, dozens and dozens of memories to make that one fade away into nothingness.

She may be bad for him. She may be destined to hurt him no matter what she does, but she isn’t strong enough to live without him. Not now. Not ever again. Maybe she’s selfish for needing him. Maybe it’s unfair to expect him to hold her broken pieces together after everything she’s put him through, but selfish and unfair though it may be, she can’t tolerate another minute of separation from him. She’s awash in a swirling sea of chaotic emotions and harrowing memories, blinding fears and fragile hopes, and he’s the only solace within her reach. He’s the only solace she has ever wanted.

Taking a step forward, she closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around him as tight as she can heedless of how his sharp angles press into her newly formed bruises. She knows her fingers are probably digging painfully into his back, but she can’t bring herself to loosen her hold. Tucking her head under his chin, she presses her right ear over his heart, losing herself momentarily in its strong, steady rhythm.

“I’m not okay,” she eventually whispers into his chest as they continue to stand motionless in his doorway, neither of them willing to accept the momentary break in their hold that will be necessary if they move beyond the threshold.

“I know,” he agrees, curling his hand around her neck to hold her steady.

Her admission should upset him, but it doesn’t. It actually soothes some of his worry. If she is ready and able to admit something is wrong, she is one step closer to healing and moving forward. If she’s willing to share this small but monumental truth with him now, maybe someday soon she’ll finally trust him enough to share the rest.

“I haven’t been okay for a very long time. Not since…” her voice trails off.

Even now, she still can’t bring herself to talk about her experience in the med pod. Even months after the fact, she’s still too raw and the emotions are still too sharp. The closest she’s come is sharing some of what she had felt in the days after their rescue, but even that was only the barest of disclosures amidst the rest of the truths she had revealed to Fitz in the Retreat.

“I know. Me neither.”

He doesn’t need to hear the rest of that sentence to know where it would end if she could have finished it. Nothing has seemed right to him since the pod. Beyond the injuries he’s had to overcome, they’ve been estranged since nearly the moment he woke from the coma, and that, more than the damage to his motor skills and speech, more than his slow recovery, has been the change that has affected him the most. Bereft of her, he has only felt like half of himself.

“I’m not sure that I’ll ever really be okay again.”

This is one of the hardest truths to admit. Knowing she is broken is painful enough. Admitting that she might never be whole again is nearly more than she can manage.

“You will,” he responds without hesitation and with such conviction that she almost feels like she can believe him, but she needs further reassurance.

“How do you know?”

“Because we’ve _never_ failed at anything we’ve done together.”

His response is emphatic and resolute, and she allows the truth of the statement to wash over her like a balm. She can’t refute him. He’s absolutely right. They have never failed at something they’ve worked on together, and given how long they been friends and partners, that is an impressive track record.

In response, she simply squeezes him tighter, taking as much comfort from the feel of his flesh and bone beneath her fingers as from his words. He clutches her back just as tightly, relieved that she is allowing herself this comfort. He knows the battle ahead of them will be long, and the Jemma who emerges will be different from the girl he met all those years ago and the woman he fell in love with, but he’s different too and in so many ways stronger for the changes. Maybe she will be as well.

While he would love nothing more than to stand here and hold her for the rest of the day, they’re bound to attract an audience before too much longer. Pulling his hand from her neck, he reaches behind his back to grab hold of one of hers and tangle their fingers together. He wants her to have a connection to him when he pulls away to reassure her. His caution is justified.

When he begins to pull her into his bedroom so they can either continue this conversation in private or simply just enjoy being in each other’s presence without any added words, she stands frozen at the door. In crossing this physical threshold she’ll be crossing a metaphorical one as well. If she follows Fitz into his room, she’s accepting his implicit offer to help her battle her demons. She’s accepting the knowledge that she needs that help even though she’s very likely to hurt him in the process, and she’s accepting the very real possibility that she might hurt him enough that he will finally push her away.

Given her thoughts only days ago, she should find some small measure of comfort in that final possibility. After all, hadn’t she wished on more than one occasion that Fitz would let her go so that he wouldn’t have to suffer? Hadn’t she lamented that he would love her in spite of everything she had done and might do to him? Now that she faces the potential of a future where she does convince him that she isn’t worth his time or love, she doesn’t find comfort in the thought that she might drive him away after all. If anything, it disturbs her more than the thought of having him but hurting him all the while.

If meeting Fitz in Chem. lab was the first turning point of her life, nearly losing him in the pod was the second. In that terrible moment when he pressed the canister in her hand and gave her one final, brittle smile, she knew that she would never be whole without him. In that horrible moment when she struggled to keep his lifeless body afloat as she screamed for help, she felt her soul tear in two, and it’s remained in tatters ever since. In this moment, standing frozen at the entrance to his room, she finally realizes that she is as incapable of giving him up forever as he seems to be regarding her, and that frightens her into stillness. Whatever she choses to do in this moment will either make or break them, and she isn’t ready to handle such a responsibility. She’s certain that she’ll make the wrong choice.

When he feels resistance, Fitz turns back only to see Jemma on the verge of tears. He tries to pull her to him, but she remains rooted to the spot.

“Jemma? What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he’s frantic with worry. She’d seemed almost calm and content just a few seconds ago. How had everything gone pear shaped again in such a short amount of time?

Earlier today she would have kept her fears hidden from him, but the consequences of this moment are too weighty for continued silence. She prays that by voicing her fears he can somehow help her circumnavigate them. After all, hadn’t he just said that they’d never failed at anything they’d done together? She needs that statement to remain true now more than ever before.

“I’m scared, Fitz,” she murmurs so quietly he has to strain to hear her.

“Of what?” he asks immediately. There are so many things that might frighten her now that he isn’t sure how he’ll help her manage them all, but he’ll try no matter what. He won’t let her face her fears alone. The longer she hesitates to answer him, the more worried he grows.

She isn’t trying to make him suffer; she just isn’t sure how best to verbalize her complicated and interwoven fears. She’s afraid of hurting him. She’s afraid of holding him too close and of pushing him away. She’s afraid of breaking forever the relationship between them that she’s already already left in pieces. She’s afraid of remaining broken herself. She’s afraid of her future, her past, and everything in between. As she mentally stumbles to distill her thoughts into something comprehensible, she suddenly finds the central, most encompassing fear and says it out loud before she can second-guess herself.

“Losing you,” she states simply staring into his anxious eyes. She can face an uncertain future, she can work though remaining broken, she can even try to come to terms with hurting him even though she doesn’t want to, but the one thing she can’t face is her life without him in it.

Of all the fears she might have shared, he wasn’t expecting this. He’s saddened that she still believes that he’ll pull away from her, but he’s only just started to undo the damage he’s inflicted on her since her return from Hydra. Still, this is the one fear that he absolutely has the power to end, and his confidence is evident when he responds.

“You won’t.”

Confident or not, she can’t be swayed so easily. While he considers his mistakes and how best to correct them, she goes over all of hers and begins to imagine how else she might fail him in the future. The possibilities seem endless.

“I almost have so many times,” she begins, but he interrupts her before she can go any further.

“Almost, but you haven’t,” he attempts to reassure her. “I’m right here, Jemma. I’m always going to be right here.” He squeezes her fingers between his own as if to punctuate his pledge.

“What if I hurt you again?” She doesn’t doubt his loyalty in this moment. He means what he says, but she doesn’t believe he is really considering all the ways she could hurt him or drive him away, and she is desperate for him to at least acknowledge the possibilities. How else can he help her fight back against them if he doesn’t?

“I’ll still be here.”

“What if…” she begins to voice another potential folly before he interrupts her once more.

“Jemma. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what. I'll be right beside you the whole damn time,” He stares into her eyes as he makes this final vow, his certainty so powerful and moving that she lets her worries go at least for a moment.

Taking in a deep breath, she steps over the threshold and hopes that she is making the right decision. For now she’ll trust Fitz to help her hold her broken pieces together, and she’ll pray that the jagged edges don’t leave them both scarred and bleeding. Despite his assurances, she worries that that her recovery will prove even too much for him either due to what she reveals or how she treats him as she tries to work through her issues and insecurities. She tries not to dwell on that worry as she settles comfortably in his arms where they recline against his headboard and eventually falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

As he watches her slumber peacefully for perhaps the first time in months, he considers just how far she has come to get here. She’s taken the first crucial step forward, but if her confession in the gym is any indication, she has thousands more to take before her journey ends and he plans to be there for each one now that she is apparently willing to trust him again. Still, he can’t help but wonder just how many demons they will have to exorcise before she’ll have that same trust in herself.

* * *

His worries aren’t unfounded. As she sleeps, the pernicious voices in her head resume their verbal assault now that they face no opponent. They will continue to undermine her team’s best efforts at every turn until someone uncovers and finally helps Jemma eliminate the source.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clearly Jemma's not out of the woods yet, but she’s starting to move in that direction. I had originally intended for this chapter to end after her breakdown during the sparring match with Bobbi, but so many of the recent chapter (the whole story to this point really) has been to angst-ridden and painful that I did want to have at least a few hopeful moments toward the end here.
> 
> This was such a difficult chapter to write because Jemma is warring with herself. She doesn’t think she deserves much of anything but at the same time she is craving the comfort and understanding she hasn’t been getting for the longest time, partially because of Fitz’s reactions to her post Hydra and partially because she’s been hiding so much of her self. I hope that internal war comes through clearly and doesn’t make the chapter seem disjointed. Her emotions are messy, and what she wants and what she needs are so often in conflict that any scenes focused on her seemed to come out messy as well. 
> 
> I also wanted this chapter to show that Fitz is human. He’s been remarkably selfless in the last few chapters, but I wanted to explore his selfish side as well. It’s hard for him to let Skye have that initial moment with Jemma. He really does want to be the one to gather her close, but he’s still Fitz, which means that he’ll put Jemma first (now that he understands why she went undercover). Also, the two of them aren’t even close to being done discussing their issues and some of Fitz’s insecurities will show up during that conversation (two chapters from now). He has is own problems to sort out and I don’t want to gloss over them even though this story is really about Jemma. 
> 
> As for what’s coming up next, I think there will be four more chapters, though I may combine two of them together if they seem a little paltry on their own. The first is focused on Jemma and how the rest of the team (including Garner who isn’t Lash in this fic) helps her to heal. The next focuses on Jemma and Fitz, and it will explore all the things they still need to discuss to really find their way first back to each other and then on to what they could be. The one after that is about Jemma learning to reframe her abilities to see them in a positive light. The last chapter should be rather heartwarming if it goes according to plan. It’ll be much more lighthearted and hopefully even a little funny at times. Like I said, most of this fic has been so angsty that I wanted the final chapter to bring us full circle back to a Jemma who can once again feel comfortable in her skin and enjoy her life. 
> 
> I hope you’ll stick with me to the end, and I hope my writing muse stays close so you don’t have to wait quite so long for the next chapter. Thanks for all your encouragement and kind words. They mean the world to me!


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